The Agent and the Esquire
by hockeymom4
Summary: Edward is an arrogant sports agent and Isabella is a bada** attorney for the Mariners. They meet at a masquerade ball and share a night of masks and painted passion. Will they find each other or will enemies masked as friends keep them apart? M-Citrus AH
1. The Agent

**The Agent and the Esquire**

**By hockeymom4**

**Rated – M for language and citrus**

**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characters within. I own nothing and mean no disrespect. **

**No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Thank you to my beta Kelli, Breath-of-Twilight**

**Thanks also to my friend, MK, a badass corporate attorney in her own right, for authenticating the legalese within the story.**

**xxxXxxx**

**Chapter One: The Agent.**

"You can't be serious, Edward? How in the hell did you swing that one? You _seriously_ signed Emmett as the '_Trojan Man'_?? That's got to be the most _fucked up_ endorsement deal I've ever heard of." Jasper was a mixture of emotions; he was pissed off that Emmett would miss this weekend's event at The Players Club, but he was amused at the fact that his friend would be starring in a condom commercial. He was never going to let him live it down.

Jasper doubled over laughing at the thought of Emmett being _The Trojan Man_. Even his laugh held his trademark Southern drawl that permeated throughout the Club.

Edward tried in vain to ignore his friend's remarks. He was too engrossed in the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_, where he was featured in an article on sports agents. He didn't have time to read the piece earlier, because Jessica, his mindless admin assistant, overbooked his afternoon, scheduling back to backs that lasted through dinner. Jess was every shade of red when she handed him the magazine. Edward knew it must be good if it made his more-than-experienced-assistant blush.

"Edward! Did you even hear a word I said? Give me one good reason why you booked that commercial for this weekend." Jasper wadded up a piece of paper and threw it across his desk in Edward's direction, hitting him right in the middle of his forehead.

Edward muttered out a quick, "Fuck!" then he purposefully stretched out his legs, shoes and all, onto Jasper's buttery-soft Italian leather sofa. He laid the magazine down in his lap and contemplated his explanation as to why Emmett, the Mariner's star designated hitter, was not coming to the event that weekend.

This wasn't just _any_ event, though. The 'Maskorade Ball' was _the_ fundraising event of the year and was being held at The Players Club for the second year in a row. Jasper, Edward and Emmett are equal partners in TPC, with Jasper managing the day to day operations.

This year, the 'Ball' was sponsored by Gatorade. Some pencil-pushing marketing genius approached Jasper about the title sponsorship: Five million dollars in exchange for printing up some invitations and calling it the _'Gatorade Maskorade Ball'_? Well, it sounded good to him, and Harborview Medical would be all the happier.

The Players Club, or TPC for short, is a members-only club comprised of former and current professional athletes and their agents. No owners or executives are permitted as members, but, they may attend when accompanied by a member.

Six out of seven nights a week the line of beautiful women would wrap around TPC. These women are dressed to the nines and would promise just about anything to get past the bouncers. To be fortunate enough to get your name on the coveted VIP list would be like getting a golden ticket to 'Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory'. Only, instead of the promise of a lifetime of chocolate, the women hope to win a lifetime of luxury, wrapped in the arms of a player as his beautiful trophy wife.

_That's better than chocolate any day of the week._

Emmett has a soft spot for the Rat City Roller Girls. Those ladies occupy permanent residence on the VIP list. They rarely come out, but when they do, they always wear their skates. And, the beautiful women hate them because they can never compete with the derby girls, who give all they've got and never ask for a single thing in return.

The 'Ball' is just a few days away, and everybody who is anybody tried to get their hands on one of only five hundred tickets. At five thousand dollars a ticket, the event sold out in two days. Scalpers are getting in bidding wars, selling single tickets for upwards of two times their face value.

This was one of the few events of the year in which non-members could buy tickets. In an act of good faith, Jasper "sold" twenty tickets each to the ownership of _The Seahawks_ and _Mariners. _It's the only time of the year that the dark side - the ownership and their in-house counsel - step foot in _The Players Club._

National and local media have requested and received press passes for this event. Among the most well known include _Sports_ _Illustrated, TMZ, ESPN, _and the four major networks.

So much is on the line and everything must be perfect. Since they own the Club, there's a lot at stake for each of them. But, Jasper being the operating partner, took it personally that Edward was so caught up in signing Emmett to the Trojan deal that he had forgotten about Emmett's commitment to the event.

Emmett McCarty is affectionately called the "bear of baseball" by his female fans. The fact that he won't be around to emcee the evening will certainly disappoint the ladies. But, more importantly, Emmett wouldn't be around to appear in the publicity surrounding the event.

Instead, Emmett would be in Hawaii shooting a commercial for Trojan Corporation, from whom Edward would get a nice kickback.

Edward smirked and shook his head at his friend, who clearly didn't understand what was at stake. "You want one good reason why Emmett won't be emceeing the charity auction, Jasper? I'll give you _two million reasons_. Money talks. "

"And Bullshit walks." Jasper smoothed down his cropped blond hair and squinted his baby blues at Edward, who just picked up his magazine and continued right where he left off.

"It's the nature of the beast, Jasper. I'm his agent first, his cousin second, and your business partner third. And, the last time I checked, Emmett and I are supposed to be _silent partners_ in TPC. This baby is all yours, Jazz," Edward ran his fingers through his hair, fed up with the implications. But, hey, he would gladly open up his checkbook and pay a God-awful amount of money just to shut Jasper the hell up.

"The timing sucks. Couldn't you have postponed the shoot? You could'a held Trojan off, at least for a little while. Just sayin'." Jasper shuffled some papers on his desk.

_Where was that check book, again?_

"First of all, it's a masquerade party, so everyone will be wearing masks. No one will have a goddamned clue who's here and who isn't. And, no, I couldn't postpone the shoot. It all comes down to timing. Trojan's up against a hard deadline and wouldn't budge an inch," Edward countered.

Jasper was more than aggravated. "Whatever. Not that your _**twenty percent cut**_ didn't have anything to do with it. What are you wearing to this thing anyway?" Jasper changed the subject, not wanting to sound bitter about the _four hundred thousand dollars_ that Edward was bound to pocket from the Trojan deal alone.

"If you must know, since I don't care to have my entire face covered all night with a rubber Halloween mask, it came down to either Phantom of the Opera or Batman. I'd rather not come as a disfigured freak, so I figured I'd be the Superhero instead." Edward smiled for a moment then he glanced back down at his magazine, anxious to finish the article.

But Jasper was relentless. "Seein' as though I've got official duties that night, I'm just wearin' a tux. I'll be the bad guy to your superhero and come as 'The Penguin.'

_And I will destroy you, Batman…_."

Jasper's mood had lightened. He coughed out a laugh, and then began pouring through some eleventh hour purchase orders for the Club.

Edward acted as though he couldn't be bothered. And, truly, it wasn't worth his time to argue with his best friend. No, to be certain, Edward's time was better spent brokering player contracts and endorsement deals, rather than worrying about who was or wasn't emceeing an insignificant charity event.

Even though it wasn't insignificant at all.

Ticket sales alone already added up to two and a half million dollars. When you add in Gatorade's sponsorship dollars and potential auction sales, this fundraiser would bring in at least ten million dollars for Harborview's hematology department. Edward's father, Carlisle Cullen, was Chief of Staff at Harborview and his mother, Esme, was a hematologist and attending physician at WSU's Medical School – Harborview Campus.

Edward is from a family of over-achievers. His parents save lives everyday. Edward draws as much blood as he possibly can from teams and corporations across the United States and Canada.

Edward's parents dedicate much of their time and money to philanthropy. Edward has more money than God, but believes he can always make more. He is tall, lean and sculpted. He's got emerald green eyes and bronze hair that can't be tamed. He has a personality to match. He's had more women than Wilt and Tiger combined, but fortunately, Edward's never been so foolish as to get tied down or get caught. Make no mistake, Edward Cullen will be keeping his millions, and will make good use of all the Trojan swag that comes his way.

Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen would give you the shirts off their backs.

Edward Cullen will make you lose yours. _And your panties, too._

He gave the _SI_ article another read:

"_March 22, 2010, Seattle, Washington - For the third year in a row, Edward M. Cullen, J.D.,M.B.A., has been named the top grossing sports agent of 2009. His net worth is estimated at one point two billion dollars, earning him a spot on Forbes Top Fifty Wealthiest Men in America. Although Cullen could buy a sports franchise outright, he claims that he "enjoys the thrill of the hunt too much to become the prey."_

_Cullen is known industry-wide as 'The Agent' because, quite frankly, he's the very best in the business. And, he'll be the first one to tell you so. Cullen has been at the top of his game since he debuted on the scene in 2007, brokering a ten year - two hundred million deal for his cousin Emmett McCarty, a designated hitter with the Seattle Mariners. McCarty's contract remains the highest grossing rookie contract in the history of Major League Baseball. Cullen received his joint law/masters degree from Stanford, where his focus was sports law and sports management. Everything he touches turns to gold, every player wants him as his agent and every team prays they won't bleed to death by the time they sign on the dotted line._

_Cullen represents professional athletes and has brokered some of the most lucrative deals in sports history. The Cullen Agency is comprised of fifteen sports agents, all sports attorneys, who represent professional baseball, basketball and football players, but Cullen has yet to add a professional hockey player to the mix. Ironically, Cullen was spotted on March 15, 2010 exiting a Dallas steakhouse with Tim Hicks, owner of the financially strapped NHL franchise, Dallas Stars. Cullen denies rumors he is in a bidding war in his attempt to purchase The Stars thus bringing professional hockey to Seattle."_

_A founding partner in Seattle's hot spot member's only 'The Players Club," Cullen is rumored to be in talks to open similar clubs in three additional high-end markets. In his spare time, Cullen enjoys entertaining on his houseboat, reportedly valued at $2.3 million dollars._

_Shit. Shit. Shit_. Edward had counted on a little more discretion when he'd agreed to meet with The Hicks Group. He wanted to keep everything under wraps until the deal went through, or rather, if the deal went through. Edward was letting this one play out on its own. If he succeeded in purchasing _The Stars_, his cash flow would be seriously depleted. He preferred to make money rather than spend money, anyway, so he would just continue to deny the rumors and let the chips fall where they may. Jasper was angry as it was. No sense adding more fuel to the fire.

Jasper grew up in the Texas oilfields. He was an _All-American_ high school football player and earned a scholarship to Texas A&M where he was a running back. He got a degree in accounting, hoping he'd put it to good use investing all that money he would make if he got signed to the NFL. Jasper was indeed drafted by the Cowboys and got engaged to his cheerleader, high school sweetheart, Chelsey, the very next day.

His happiness was short lived, because although he was drafted, he was unceremoniously cut from the Cowboys during training camp. Chelsey had set her hopes on marrying a football player, so she broke his heart and married the backup quarterback, Afton Dimell, instead.

With his tail between his legs, Jasper left Texas and moved to California where he got his MBA at Stanford. His father, Randall Whitlock, had high hopes that Jasper would follow in his footsteps and take over Whitlock Oil. But of course that never happened.

An overachiever at an early age, Edward attended the best boarding schools in America. He got his bachelors degree from Dartmouth while he set his sights on law school.

While Edward soared in academics, his cousin Emmett excelled in sports. He was a baseball prodigy and was destined for the major leagues. It was actually Emmett who initially put the "sports agent" idea in Edward's head. Emmett said that he would be Edward's first client. Though he wasn't his _first_, he certainly made the record books as the finest deal ever made.

Edward knew that in order to become one of the most successful in his field, he would have to set himself apart from the rest.

Having made his decision to become a sports agent, Edward choreographed his next steps expertly. He chose to attend Stanford, because they had a joint masters/law degree program. Stanford offered specialized courses in sports marketing and management, domestic and international business and, of course, sports law.

When it comes to successful sports agents, it's best to equate it to the food chain. There are the lions, the lambs and the bottom feeders.

The bottom feeders are the scum of the earth, with little education who prey on low level amateur, Olympic and college athletes. There are others with undergraduate degrees that attempt to play with the big boys, but are out-maneuvered at every turn.

The lambs, for the most part, are well respected by athletes and owners alike, and most of them achieve success in the field. The more reputable ones have a background in law, which enable them to navigate the intricacies of labor laws, contract law, endorsement agreements, negotiation and arbitration, as well as navigating the complexities of professional athletic unions.

At the very top of the food chain are the lions. These are the elite few who offer both legal and business expertise.

Athletes are highly paid individuals and they require an agent who can advise them every step of the way. Many athletes are either foreign born or are contracted to teams in Canada and other parts of the world. Therefore, expertise in domestic and international business and business law is crucial.

In their second year at Stanford, Edward and Jasper met during a "business strategies" class they shared. The two became fast friends and ended up sharing an apartment the remainder of their Stanford days.

Jasper spent his summers back in Texas working for Whitlock Oil. Edward spent his summers in the sports law arena, making contacts and learning the intricacies that quite simply weren't taught at Stanford. He interned with two pro teams, the Giants pro baseball team his first summer; and the San Francisco 49ers pro football team the summer of his second year. After his third year, Edward landed the only paid internship offered with Idell & Seitel, the largest sports and entertainment firm in San Francisco.

Edward strategically planned his career and everything fell into place like clockwork.

In just four short years, he walked away with his "joint" degrees, in Sports Law/Sports Business Administration. His stage was set.

Edward would be the lion in an industry filled with prey.

After Edward rocked Major League Baseball with Emmett's epic deal, players around the MLB jockeyed for position, literally beating down Edward's door.

The cousins were swimming in money. Edward bought a house on the coast as well as two cars, including his trademark black Aston Martin, which looked like the Batmobile, and a silver Volvo convertible. He rarely drives either vehicle, preferring to make use of a car service twenty-four seven instead.

When Emmett deposited his "ginormous" signing bonus, he bought a penthouse condominium near Safeco Field, a Jeep and a Mariner's baseball cap. His penthouse has an ocean view, and he can walk to the field. His Jeep is tricked out to the hilt.

As for his baseball cap? It has been quite the chick magnet. No one turns down a player.

At first, as in 'right when he signed,' women never believed that Emmett was actually a Mariner. He had the Mariner's hat, but so did half of Seattle. Plus, he couldn't seem to wipe the Cheshire cat grin off of his face long enough to appear believable. So, he resorted to showing all the pretty girls his laminated copy of the photo and article in the _Seattle Times_ that wrote about his "record breaking rookie contract".

That was then.

Now, Emmett practically has to beat women away with a baseball bat. Not that he would, hit a girl that is, but he had a hard time figuring out whether women wanted him for his money or his good looks, wit and charm.

That all changed three weeks ago when he met a woman. Not just any woman, but the most beautiful, intelligent and resourceful woman ever to grace God's earth. His Jeep was stopped dead on the four-oh-five when an angel came to his rescue. She pulled over in her candy apple red BMW convertible and asked him if he needed some help.

Emmett mistook her for a fan and told her it wasn't a good time for autographs. She had never watched a baseball game in her life. Blondie slapped his face, popped his hood and set him straight. He's been in love ever since. Emmett was swept off his feet and he swore off his womanizing ways forever. He just flew the mystery woman away with him for a week in Hawaii for the Trojan shoot.

Which reminded Edward, he had to set the record straight with Jasper.

"Only five percent. I only get five percent of what I broker for Emmett. For everybody else, it's higher. Much higher."

Jasper smirked and tapped his mechanical pencil on the desk. "So, only one hundred thousand dollars, then?"

"In cash," Edward deadpanned, turned the page of his magazine and then his eyes about popped out of his head.

_**Mariner's Back-Office Ball Buster**_

_**Isabella "Ice Princess" Swan, Esquire**_

_Relatively new on the scene, Isabella Swan, staff counsel with the Seattle Mariners, is a tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners woman in the male-dominated sports industry. She has already made a name for herself, albeit not very flattering. Known among sports agents as the 'Ice Princess', or even 'Icey-Bella' Swan, one thing is certain: Isabella Swan, Esquire, has hit professional baseball by storm. _

_When asked about her rumored boardroom encounters with sports agents, Swan replied, "For the most part, they are unethical, unqualified, unscrupulous and borderline criminal. I have yet to find one I can stomach."_

_Swan offered no comment regarding reports that she had driven an agent to tears earlier in the week._

Edward thought long and hard about the Ice Princess and his meeting with her the following Thursday. _I'll give her something to swallow._

**xXx**

**A/N**

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**The Agent, The Superhero and The Boathouse.**

_**Don't blame me if you can't handle the Superhero pic. Rob wore this panty-dropper during the September 2009 'Premiere Magazine' cover shoot. He says the number one movie role he wants to play is "Batman." **_

**Up Next:**

**Chapter Two: The Esquire**

**Thanks Keira (**_**MaitresseSaint) for the awesome banner for A&E. You are quite the **_**fantabulous femme. Check my profile for the banner. It is yummy hot.**


	2. The Esquire

**The Agent and the Esquire**

**By hockeymom4**

**Rated – M for language and citrus**

**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characters within. I own nothing and mean no disrespect. **

**No copyright infringement is intended.**

**xXx**

**Thank you to my beta Kelli, Breath-of-Twilight **

**Special thanks to my friend, MK, a badass corporate attorney in her own right, for authenticating the legalese within the story.**

**xxxxXxxxx**

**Chapter Two**

_**The Esquire**_

Isabella packed the last of her things in her brand new car. She was on her way to Seattle.

He was a player and she'd dated him on and off since high school. He was safe and accepted her on her own terms. He held her close to his heart; she held him an arms length away. It was easy at first, to keep her distance that is, because he lived fifteen hundred miles away. But when he chose to play college ball, in her own backyard, it was a little too close for comfort.

When he made it to the big leagues, he hoped his accomplishment would be enough to hold onto her. After all, success always seemed important to her.

He wanted to give her his name. He promised her a house in the country, a white picket fence, two kids and a dog.

She wanted a name for herself. She longed for a loft in the city, a coastal view, and a career as a corporate attorney with the Seattle Mariners. It was her dream job, and one she had earned with blood, sweat, and tears.

In no particular order.

She kissed him goodbye and never looked back.

Isabella landed the Mariners job with a little luck and a lot of hard work. Her career path began to fall into place three short years prior when she received a full ride scholarship to Arizona State University Law School. Initially, she had no clue in which field of law she'd concentrate. During her second semester of her first year, Isabella landed a coveted summer internship with the Diamondbacks legal team. The second week on the job she knew that sports law was her calling.

Isabella didn't earn much when it came to monetary compensation, but she got paid in spades learning the ins and outs of corporate and sports law. She was a woman in a man's world and that only fueled her resolve.

Isabella had an eye for loopholes. Even as an intern, her razor sharp teeth sliced through a seemingly iron clad deal. She relieved the Diamondbacks of a mediocre player's seven million dollar contract.

He was back in the minors.

She'd hit the major leagues.

With three months to go before law school graduation, Isabella already had four offers on the table:

The Diamondbacks promised her a cushy salary and a corner office, but she wanted a fresh start; away from the 'intern' label. Well, that, and she wanted to get as far away from her scatterbrained mother as possible. Isabella could only take so much.

The Yankees courted her heavily, but since her ex was a third-baseman for the team, she didn't give their offer a second glance.

The Red Sox offered her an insane amount of money to come on board. Unfortunately for the Bosox, Isabella interviewed in the dead of winter…during a blizzard. Let's just say that Jimmy Choo doesn't do snow.

So it was the Mariners by default. The fact that she would live a mere two hours from her father was never a consideration when she accepted the position. Until she turned eighteen, she was forced, by order of the custody agreement, to spend an entire month of every summer at her father Charlie's house in Forks, Washington - population zero, with nothing to do.

Although Isabella was forced to spend a month of every summer with him, Isabella had nothing in common with Charlie. He fished, he watched ESPN, he even tried to force her to play cards and Scrabble. But, she wanted none of that. She preferred to stay in her room and read. He could enforce the custody arrangement, but he couldn't force her to like it.

When she was fifteen, Charlie got four tickets to a Mariner's game, planning to take Bella, his friend Billy and Billy's son Jacob. It rained, so she refused to go. She can't remember who used her ticket.

When she was sixteen, Charlie bought her a beat up, God awful, pile of shit truck from Billy. She was mortified driving that hunk of scrap metal around. She liked to go fast, and the fifty-year-old Chevy truck wouldn't go a mile an hour over its age. But it got her where she needed to go.

When she was seventeen, her last summer in Forks, The Beast broke down. The boy Jacob fixed it for her, only he'd become more like a man. He provided a nice distraction from the boredom. That was the beginning of their romance, if you could call it that. He was head over heels while she kept her distance even then.

When Isabella left at the end of the summer, Charlie knew she'd never be back. He knew he'd never again spend his summers with his only child, who was the light of his life. He loved her in his own wonderful way. Charlie didn't have much, but he offered her everything he had.

Charlie tried to get her to take that pile of rust back to her home in Phoenix. _Thanks, but, no thanks. _Charlie and Jake saw her off at the Seatac airport. She kissed them both on the cheek. They both wished she'd meant it.

Though flighty and unreliable, her mother Renee married up. Her step-father Phil was a major leaguer. He could afford to buy her a decent automobile and he did just that, allowing her to pick out a shiny new Mustang convertible. She traded up as well.

Phil's credit card kept her in designer clothes with a lifestyle to match.

On the day of her law school graduation, Isabella found her Mustang missing. In its place was a shiny new 2009 Capri Blue Mercedes Cabriolet convertible.

Phil, of course, tied a big white bow around the car and gave it to her outright.

Charlie gave her a Monte Blanc pen.

_Happy Graduation, Isabella!_

Since he wore a Mariner's cap to her law school graduation, she figured she'd have to suck it up and take him to at least one home game. She was hoping for another rainy day so she could cancel.

**xXx**

Isabella was so focused on her career with the Mariners that she didn't have time for family or friends, let alone lovers. If truth be told, she'd never had any actual lovers _per se_, but that was beside the point. She wasn't a prude. It was just that no one held her interest. She wasn't a supermodel by any means, but she held her own. She had long mahogany hair and dark brown eyes with golden flecks that actually sparkled when you got close enough to see them. Not that any men ever did, get close to her that is, but those golden flecks were there none-the-less.

Her skin was flawless. Her mind was brilliant. Men were intimidated by her.

And she knew it.

Her first month in Seattle, Isabella met Alice Brandon at the Zoka Coffee Roaster & Tea House, located a few blocks down from her loft. Alice is barely five feet tall, even with her spiky black hair and her five-inch Salvatore Ferragamo heels.

Isabella had her iPhone stuck to her ear and wasn't paying attention when she barreled right into Alice. Both women ended up wearing their lattes. Isabella had an arbitration hearing she was rushing to and blamed the mishap on Alice, who insisted on making it up to the woman she would affectionately call "Bella."

Alice saw the woman behind the mask. She saw the woman who encased herself behind a carefully constructed façade.

They exchanged information, as if they'd been in a car accident. Alice insisted they would be friends. Best friends. _She just knew it_.

Ali studied fashion design in Milan, Italy and has clients around the globe. Although her company 'Wonderland' pays the bills, Alice craves the theatre life too much, so, she is a costume designer for the 5th Avenue Theatre in Seattle, as well.

Alice proceeded to call Isabella everyday after _coffee-gate_, claiming she needed information so she could create the perfect ensemble. She called at least twice a day with one lame question after the other. When Bella wouldn't agree to a custom sizing, Alice called asking for her dress size, bra size and even her shoe size. She asked Bella what her favorite colors were and what types of fabric she preferred. Friday morning came and Isabella made her assistant swear not to forward another call from Alice Brandon. Ever.

Imagine Isabella's surprise when that very afternoon Alice bounced into Bella's office balancing an armload of _Wonderland_ originals. Alice even threw in a pair of designer shoes.

Everybody has her price, and Isabella named hers. A pair of Prada pumps, one suit, one dress and two sets of coordinating satin and lace lingerie later, and Alice was right. They had indeed become best friends.

It wasn't exactly a tough hurdle to breech, because in fact, Alice was Bella's only friend, not counting work associates or her personal trainer.

And, you certainly couldn't count Rosalie, who had become her friend by association. Rosalie had turquoise blue eyes and long blond hair. With her trademark Zanotti stilettos, her legs were a mile long. Rose and Bella were too much alike to be close friends, and were such polar opposites that there was no way they could be enemies.

They tolerated each other for Alice's sake.

Alice and Rosalie grew up together in Seattle. _Doctor_ Rosalie Hale received her PhD in psychology and has her own practice as a marriage and relationship counselor. It seems the dysfunctional family in which she was raised provided the inspiration for her line of work.

Isabella wondered how a bitch like Rosalie could ever give anyone advice on relationships. But Rose's schedule was booked solid, so she must be doing something right.

Alice, Rosalie and Bella were inseparable. Alice managed to get her friends free tickets to the hottest shows at 5th Avenue. Isabella enjoyed the cast parties, far away from the sharks in her office whom she was certain, hoped she would drown. Rosalie and Alice managed to date every _straight_ lead actor that headlined. Bella had no time for romance, but she accepted an occasional free dinner out.

Isabella hadn't lost a case yet and had on at least two occasions, brought players and their agents to tears. The first case involved a positive drug screen. The Mariners contract provided that they reserved the _right_ to terminate a player's contract for a positive drug test. The Mariners did not hesitate to do so…_if_ they wanted to get rid of the player. There were an equal number of cases in which the Mariners defended and shielded their best players from their own poor decisions. A few months prior, Isabella had a significant role in the defense of a player charged with cocaine possession when he was pulled over for a traffic violation and the policeman spotted the tell-tale Ziploc baggie in the his front pocket. The player had a .389 batting average. He's still on the team.

The story ended differently for Arturo "Aro" Rodriguez, a second baseman with a batting average of .184, who tested positive for marijuana. His agent agreed that Aro had used a banned substance, but that he "partook of said substance while in his native country of Mexico."

Uh…. Good try, but no.

The sports agent, S. Riley Parker, III, as if an initial before his name and Roman numerals after made him more important, groveled like a pansy. He begged for rehab, trade, anything. He offered Isabella an under-the-table kickback, of which she subsequently promised she would report said bribe to the authorities.

You see, if the player doesn't get paid, the agent doesn't get a dime.

Goodbye twenty-six million dollars.

The two grown men sat across the boardroom table and sobbed.

One thing she had in common with the men sitting across from her was - she would have cried, too.

Another time Isabella brought grown men to their knees was when the Mariners invoked the morals clause regarding short stop Connor Johnson. Mr. Johnson was arrested and convicted of "solicitation", "lewd and indecent behavior" and "public nudity." He was busted in the backseat of his fully-restored '69 Chevy El Camino while receiving felatio. His mug shot and the related charges were spewed all over local and national media.

While wiping his runny nose and red eyes with the back of his hand, sports agent, Felix Rinker, begged for a second chance for his client. He said his client would purchase a full-page ad in the _Seattle Times_ and publish a public letter of apology to the city of Seattle and all Mariners fans.

If truth be known, Connor Johnson really didn't have any fans. It was an odd coincidence that his batting average was .169 last season. And, like the prostitute, he just blew sixteen million dollars.

Defeated, Felix offered to shake Isabella's hand, hoping that their next meeting would be under more pleasant circumstances. She conveniently reached into her briefcase at that exact moment and pulled out her Blackberry.

There was no way in Hell Isabella was touching that hand.

In an industry dictated by contract negotiation, bidding wars and unscrupulous sports agents, she grabbed grown men by the balls and squeezed. Hard.

And every fucking one of them knew it. Including _The Agent_. Which was obviously why he'd refused to meet with her. Until now.

_The Agent_ had enough clout in the industry that he felt he could call the shots. He went over Isabella's head countless times saying he refused to meet with a "freshman" associate. Her boss Tyler Crowley put up with _The Agent's_ bullshit time and time again, always assigning another attorney to the case.

Isabella, though successful, was a junior associate and couldn't say a word.

Of course, if Isabella had slept with Tyler one of the many times he propositioned her, perhaps things would have been different. But, she wouldn't touch that smarmy sow with a ten foot pole. She wouldn't dare report him either. She didn't want to be labeled Anita Hill in the industry and she knew she'd never live it down. Isabella would just keep her distance.

And, as for _The Agent_? Well, he could just go fuck himself, no matter how gorgeous he was.

Isabella knew everything there was to know about Edward Cullen. She had crossed his path at industry events and had secretly stared and scowled at him the few times he came onto her floor. When she Googled him, Isabella's eyes glazed over at the sight of six hundred twenty thousand hits.

_Please._

Isabella was insulted that he declined meeting with her and refused her calls. She took it as a personal affront when her own boss replaced her on negotiations and dealings with players when _The Agent_ was involved.

She thought it was interesting how Tyler would rather lose a few million dollars than cower to Cullen.

Thinking of ways to beat her boss and her take down her enemy took up way too much of Isabella's time. She vowed to let it go. That is, until a message from her assistant came over on her Blackberry Friday afternoon.

_March 19, 2010 4:58am_

_Isabella:_

_Please note an update in your calendar re meeting on 04/01/2010_

_Who: Edward Cullen, J.D., M.B.A. (The Cullen Agency)_

_When: Thursday, April 1, 2010 7pm_

_Location: Poppy Restaurant, 622 Broadway East at Roy, Seattle_

_Regarding: Trade negotiation_

_Please advise. _

_Thanks,_

_Lauren Mallory_

_Legal Assisant_

_Seattle Mariners_

Isabella sat with her mouth wide open and stared at Lauren's email. She was certain her face was red with fire. It had been ten months since she came on board with the Mariners, and during that timeframe, _The Agent_ had refused to work with her on at least six occasions.

And now he was inviting her to dinner? To be precise, it was a business meeting regarding a trade negotiation, but since there would be food and wine involved, she considered it dinner nonetheless.

Isabella thought she'd be proactive and take a few minutes to research the athlete in question. She glanced over the email once again and noted there was no name listed.

Then she noticed the date. The motherfucker wanted to meet her on April first – as in April Fools Day. Isabella was one hundred percent certain that this was intentional. What she didn't know was whether it was a sick joke or a carefully laid plan to get her to lose her focus during the talks.

Was he planning to stand her up, leave her waiting for hours while she sat alone eating bread sticks and drinking Merlot, only to have the maître d' approach her with apologies that _The Agent_ had been detained and the meeting would have to be rescheduled?

At this point, Isabella wasn't certain she would even accept the meeting. She was beyond angry that he would be so crass as to avoid her like the Plague for nearly a year, then suddenly go behind her back and have her assistant insert an "update" into her schedule.

_April Fools Day? Ha! The joke would be on him._

And then her calculating mind went into overdrive. She would accept the meeting with _The Agent_. She would be brilliant, beautiful and she would blow him out of the water.

She wouldn't respond to the email right away. She'd make him sweat.

Isabella set her plan into motion. First on the agenda…she needed something phenomenal to wear.

**xXx**

Isabella and Alice met later that evening at La Spiga, an "authentic" Italian restaurant in Seattle. It was clear from their body language that both women had something on their minds. Isabella was on edge, snapping at the server and speaking in clipped tones. Alice could tell something was bothering Bella, but she was so excited just thinking about the envelope that was burning a hole in her purse, that she couldn't be concerned with anything else.

Isabella was so wrapped up in thoughts about Edward Cullen, that she remained oblivious to Alice's jubilation. Isabella knew she had something to ask her best friend and with Alice appearing in an agreeable mood, she went for broke.

"Ali, I have a favor to ask you, and it's epic. It has to do with that asshole I've told you about. You know, _The Agent_?" Bella bit her lip, suddenly nervous, knowing she had to word this delicately.

Alice spoke up, acknowledging she knew exactly who Bella was talking about, "The fuckhot jerk off who doesn't have the balls to face you?" Alice showed she was listening, even though she was barely paying attention.

Alice had an epic favor of her own to ask.

"He's requested a meeting. April first. Something to do with a trade," Bella paused, drawing out the inevitable.

"That's April Fools Day. Do you want me to help you get him back for being such a jerk?" There wasn't a thing Alice wouldn't do for her BFF.

"Nothing like that. You know the deer in the headlights look, Alice? The one when a man is so paralyzed he can't think straight? I need you to work that magic. I need a Wonderland original that will stop him dead in his tracks." Bella held her breath.

Alice was literally coming unglued. It couldn't have worked out better if she'd written the script herself. She smiled a big wide 'Cheshire Cat' kind of grin, reached into her purse and pulled out the golden tickets.

"Actually, Bella, I've got a favor to ask you, too."

Alice proceeded to tell Bella about the fact that Rosalie had been planning to attend an event with her new boyfriend at The Players Club. This mystery man, of whom Rosalie refused to share one iota of information for fear she would "jinx" the relationship, had suddenly decided to take Rosalie to Hawaii. They wouldn't be going to the "Ball" after all, so Rosalie gave the hottest tickets in town to her two best friends.

Isabella turned green.

She thought about Rosalie and pondered who her boyfriend could possibly be to score the sold out tickets at the exclusive club.

Alice continued talking about how Rosalie was keeping her new boyfriend "on the down-low" until she was sure he was "Mister Right." With Rosalie as a marriage and relationship counselor, she'd seen first hand how outside forces can adversely affect relationships. Apparently this guy was worthy of a fighting chance.

Isabella nodded her head in agreement. She knew that there wouldn't be any interference on her end, but, with Alice, well…that was a different story.

She snickered to herself at the fact that more than one marriage was bound to fail since Rosalie had her secretary cancel her appointments for the entire week to go off on some mysterious trip with her phantom new squeeze.

_Like that will last. _Bella thought.

And now, Isabella would have to suffer an entire evening wearing God-knows-what because Rosalie decided to play nice and give Alice two tickets to the masked ball.

In all actuality, Isabella was sure Rosalie wasn't being nice at all. Rather she must have planned it all out to torture her.

"I can't, Alice. Please don't ask me to go. There will be people there I know, people I work with…. Can't you ask someone else? Maybe someone from 5th Avenue?" Bella was hoping Alice would drop it.

_If someone recognized Isabella in an idiotic outfit, and acting like a fool with six mojitos in her system, then her credibility would most definitely fly out the window._

"Destiny, Bella, just think about it. Fate dropped these tickets right in our hot little hands, we just have to go. They're VIP, too! Please? For me?" Alice actually put her hands out in front of her as if she were praying.

_No. Not for all the money in the world._

"First of all, _Fate_ didn't give _us_ those tickets. Rosalie's mysterious new boyfriend gave them to_ you, _Alice_._ Take someone else, because I'm not going," Isabella attempted to sidetrack Alice.

Alice couldn't contain her enthusiasm and was talking a mile a minute about possible costumes and of their own "Mr. Right's" that they would surely meet.

"No, Alice. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Go." It was getting ridiculous at this point

Isabella had to pound those last nails in the costume ball coffin. "If I wanted to go to that ridiculous masquerade ball, I would have used my own tickets that I _bought for ten thousand fucking dollars, and donated back_ to Harborview."

Alice stared in stunned silence.

Bella continued hammering, "John "Mister Chairman" Ellis highly encouraged every one of us on the Mariner's legal team' to buy two tickets. I might be ten thousand dollars poorer, but I'm the only sane one who is choosing to pass."

Isabella was condescending in her tone and firm in her convictions. But, Isabella's admission only served to hurt Alice's feelings.

Alice cried. She actually _cried_ when she asked Isabella how she could possibly have the hottest tickets in town and not only fail to ask her best friend to go with her, but she actually _gave the tickets back_.

"I'm sorry, Alice. It's just not my thing. Everyone from the office is going to be there, plus the players and the agents…I just don't want to put myself in that situation." Bella was truly sorry.

"I'll do it. I'll make a red-carpet worthy suit that will make drool slide out _The Agent's_ gaping mouth. I'll even include power panties. But you have to come with me to the ball." Alice was a better negotiator than _The Esquire_.

Isabella took a sip of her pinot. She knew she'd been beat, but it was worth the price.

So, it was with two very different goals in mind, that Isabella and Alice made a deal. Her coworkers and enemies would all be in attendance, so Isabella demanded complete anonymity. Alice, who was determined to meet her soul mate that night, insisted on sexy.

They pinkie swore to two stipulations:

First, the masks must stay on - all night long.

Second, the women agreed to leave no trace. That meant no names, no numbers, and no looking back.

No exceptions.

No matter what.

Alice, being a hopeless romantic and talking a mile a minute, told Bella, "You never know what truths you'll find hidden behind a masked man."

Now that the decision was made, the thought of attending the masquerade ball actually excited Isabella. For the first time in a long time she would take off her carefully crafted mask and just be herself, and not the cold and calculating woman she carefully portrayed everyday.

Isabella would check her inhibitions at the door. She would drink, dance and be free for just one night. She needed this. It had been far too long since she'd been free.

**xxxxXxxxx**

**A/N**

**Thank you so much to everyone all over the world who is reading, fav'ing and alerting the story. **

**Follow me on twitter (at) hockeymomtweets and I'll follow you right back.**

**Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think. I'd even love a smiley : )**

**Everyone who reviews, will receive pictures of Isabella's and Alice's costumes. Let's just say there's body paint involved.**

**.**

**Next up:**

**Chapter Three: Painted Ladies and Masked Men**


	3. Painted Ladies and Masked Men

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characters within. I own nothing and mean no disrespect. No copy right infringement is intended.**_

_**Thank you to my beta Kelli, Breath-of-Twilight **_

_**Special thanks to my friend, MK, for authenticating the legalese within the story.**_

**xxxxXxxxx**

**Chapter Three: Painted Ladies and Masked Men**

The day of the masquerade ball arrived. Wearing an organic bamboo shirt and a comfortable pair of yoga pants, Isabella sat at her bathroom vanity and got ready to face the day. Knowing she would take a shower at the spa, she tied her hair back in a ponytail, applied some Chapstick to her dry lips and took a long hard look at herself in the mirror.

Although it was the same face she stared at every morning, Isabella didn't recognize herself anymore. She'd become so accustomed to the armor that encased her, that she simply didn't know how to exist without it. Isabella thought about how she and Alice had come a long way in the ten months they'd been friends. She thought back to that first day when she bumped into Alice and spilled coffee all over her. She thought about how Alice never gave up on her, even though she wasn't exactly the most receptive person to be friends with.

The fact that they were meeting at Zoka on "Ball Day" caused Isabella to think about how Alice might be right. Maybe there is something called fate. Maybe she was destined to meet Alice that day so she'd have at least one real friend outside of the shark tank that was real life for her.

She thought about how Alice said that fate had given them tickets to the ball and that they were destined to meet their soul mates. Isabella was resolved to the fact that even if it were true, even if her soul mate was out there somewhere, that there would be no way he could break through the iron and steel that protected her from getting hurt.

But for just one night, Isabella would answer the door and let destiny in. And just like Cinderalla, she knew the spell would be broken the moment she left the ball.

Rushing out the door of her loft taking nothing but her wallet and keys, Isabella ran to meet Alice at Zoka. With chai teas in hand, they left the Coffee and Tea House, hailed a cab and headed off to spend a marathon day at the spa.

"This night will change our lives. I feel it, Bella. Tonight we won't even be ourselves. We are going to experience a total transforma…." Alice stopped speaking, and hurriedly rummaged through her hobo bag.

She pulled an envelope out of her purse and exhaled. "I thought I forgot the tickets, but they're here. I am so absent minded today!" Alice wiped her forehead as if there was a bead of sweat she was removing.

"Want to see the tickets? I don't think I showed you the other day. Did I tell you we're VIP? Oh, and FYI, we're VIP at Blix, too!" Alice handed a ticket to Isabella.

**///\\\**

_**~Unveil a Cure~**_

"_**Gatorade**_

_**Maskorade Ball"**_

_**to benefit the**_

_**University of Washington Medical Center - Harborview Campus Department of Hematology**_

_**The Players Club**_

_**Seattle, Washington**_

_**Saturday, March 27, 2010**_

_**Nine O'clock PM**_

_**VIP Access**_

_**\\\///**_

The taxi driver stopped the car in the middle of Yale Avenue, right in front of Spa Blix. The women entered through the special VIP door which led into the exclusive VIP section of Blix. Alice chose this particular spa because Blix was one of the few full-service spas in Seattle that offered the treatments that Alice had in mind. As the women were undergoing an array of services, VIP was the only way to go, because the aestheticians, massage therapists and stylists literally brought the services to them.

Make no mistake, this day at the spa wasn't for their enjoyment, although it would certainly be relaxing and wonderful and all those other great feelings, but rather this day at the spa was crucial in their total transformation. Alice told Isabella that they had to prepare their minds and body and that by the time they walked into TPC twelve hours later, that even their mothers wouldn't recognize them.

The women were Blixfoliated, algaed, Basalt Stone Massaged, facial'd, arched, Brazilian waxed, body waxed, manicured, pedicured, buffed and polished.

Alice's favorite stylist gave her a trim, then applied a rinse in shimmery obsidian.

Isabella's hair was "_temporarily"_ tinted and streaked.

Crimson.

With highlights and lowlights.

Her natural mahogany would reappear after ten washings. But Alice didn't mention that tiny little fact. _Temporary is such a fluid word._

Seven hours, twelve treatments and one strawberry and banana smoothie later, and they were headed to the theatre. Marcus, the Tony-award-winning makeup artist, was ready and waiting. Using an artists touch, Marcus airbrushed Alice first and then Bella.

Bella read the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_ while she waited. That damned Agent got an entire two-page spread. She hung on every word.

That's ok. She'd eat him up and spit him out.

Unless, of course, he tasted good.

No, not happening. Not in a million years.

_That motherfucker was going down._

Alice provided the perfect canvas as Marcus transformed her into the feline she was at heart. He was the master artist as he lined her eyes, painted her lids, tinted her lips, feathered jet black whiskers, and airbrushed a faux mask that one could only tell was painted-on her skin if they got up close. Real close, as in centimeters away.

Bella had turned as red as a beet.

Alice noticed her BFF's sullen disposition and told her not to worry, they would finish in time and it was now her turn anyway.

Bella huffed herself out of the vinyl recliner and threw down the magazine that was offensive in more ways than one. She broke the spine, causing the magazine to lie wide open displaying a headline that Bella would rather not advertise to her BFF.

_**Mariner's Back-Office Ball Buster**_

_**Isabella "Ice Princess" Swan, Esquire**_

Shit. Alice wasn't supposed to see that. As in never-ever.

Alice's eyes flew open and immediately focused on that title and a few other choice words which seemed to practically jump off the page. "'_Ice Princess'_? '_Icey-Bella_'? That's okay. I bet ya that _Sports Illustrated_ will be there tonight. You can just spill a drink on 'em tonight or something. They'll never know it's you."

"Funny, Alice," Bella mumbled, as she picked up the obviously rag-mag tabloid and threw it unceremoniously in the trash can. Who knew the editors of _Sports Illustrated_ decided to dwell in the shadows of the _National Enquirer_?

Bella continued walking over toward Marcus and laid down on his soft vinyl, custom-designed artists table, that was shaped like an hourglass. Bella drew in some deliberate, cleansing breaths. She closed her eyes and shut herself off from the world.

This was going to be a long process. Bella knew what Alice had in mind and what that would entail. She would become totally unrecognizable, and the only way to do that was with some serious body paint.

Bella was transformed from head to toe into the villainess that existed deep within her core, she had become Poison Ivy.

Marcus airbrushed a delicate mask of masterfully placed and multi-hued green and brown vines and ivy. The ivy formed a mask as it intricately framed her eyes, shadowed her lids, and then continued in a twisted vine down the right side of her neck. Leaves and vines twisted and gnarled over her carotid artery, across her clavicle bone and gently cascaded down until ivy gracefully cupped her creamy soft breasts.

The vine traversed across her heart, and displayed detail of a single ivy leaf, nearly wilted, with its edges turned in among itself, as if it were crying for even a drop of water.

As if she were wearing a thong, Marcus painted vines and ivy that barely covered her 'V' in the front.

Isabella had fallen asleep as he painted and Marcus gently woke her from her slumber. Two hours had already passed by, and she'd have to stand for the rest of what he had planned.

The vine twisted around both sides of her hips, formed a knot as it 'tied' in the back, then ventured down , covering the 'I' on her backside.

The gnarled vines and poisonous leaves-of-three spiraled down her right thigh, across her knee, down her shin and finally, whispered around her delicate ankle, ending with a perfect ivy leaf angled upon the top of her tiny foot.

Her left leg remained free of any intrusion of the deadly vine.

Marcus stood back to admire his masterpiece. He took her arm and walked with her to a full-length mirror. She gasped.

Isabella stood naked in front of the mirror. If she didn't know better, she would swear she was wearing a costume.

And not paint_._

Alice, who was already wearing her Cat Suit, looked at Bella and smiled in appreciation. She expected nothing less from Marcus. This was her design, after all.

Alice's assistant appeared out of nowhere with Bella's dress, shoes and accessories.

Bella cocked an eyebrow in surprise at the taupe-colored, sheer lace, barely-there mini-dress.

"You didn't expect me to ask you to go out in just your birthday suit, did you, Bella? Here, let me help you with this."

Bella stepped into her dress and then into a pair of brand new iridescent green Pelle Moda five inch heels.

"One more thing, you'll need to put these in. You used to wear contacts, right?" Alice handed Isabella a pair to put in along with a spare of green tinted contact lenses.

Alice really had thought of everything.

Isabella blinked her eyes into the green contacts and stood in front of the three-way mirror and exhaled.

She had become Poison Ivy.

In the flesh.

She was artfully disguised and not a soul would have an earthly idea who in the world this woman was.

She looked over and offered her sincere thanks to her best friend, of whom Michelle Pfeifer couldn't hold a candle as the quintessential Catwoman. Alice's cat suit was black lace, except for her felt ears and leather tail that could double as a whip any day of the week. Her black patent leather stilettos tied around her ankles.

Ali handed Bella a coordinating satin and lace clutch that matched Alice's black one. Both clutches were small enough to hold in one hand, yet large enough to hold their tickets, house keys, taxi money, lip gloss and the makeup repair kit that Marcus's assistant compiled in a miniature compact.

It was nine o'clock on the dot. They were right on time to be fashionably late. The two women stood arm-in-arm and chanced one last glance in front of the mirror. They thanked everyone, especially Marcus for creating living, breathing works of art.

They smiled, because tonight they donned masks of anonymity. They could both be free, let go and just enjoy life and everything it had to offer.

This was especially true for Bella, because the mask that she hid behind everyday had been ripped off like a Band-Aid. But, like all deep and embedded scars, the pretenses would reappear in the morning. Her airbrushed mask would wash away in the shower and her façade would once again take its place.

But tonight Isabella and Alice were free. As they braved the damp Seattle air and hailed a cab, they _became_ Poison Ivy and Catwoman.

Prior to exiting the cab, Ivy and Cat re-pledged their pinkie promise.

No trace. No names. No numbers. No exceptions.

No matter what.

Tonight they would live it up and never look back. With only the doorman taking their tickets, no one would ever be the wiser. Talk about letting go? These ladies wrote the book.

Prior to exiting the cab, the women reached under their lace mini dresses and removed the sealed glass vials that were strapped to the tops of their thighs. They each opened their vials and took two long and hard swallows of Absinthe. They capped the vials, tied them securely to their thighs and entered the Club with the confidence offered by the little green fairy.

Ivy and Cat headed straight for the dance floor. Instantly, every eye was upon them.

"Holy fuck, who are they?" Jasper asked Edward. He wasn't usually one to swear, but this situation seemed to warrant the obscenity. Both of their eyes darted around the dance floor in a desperate attempt to keep these sexy sirens in their line of sight.

All of the men sitting at this VIP table exchanged shrugs, and Jasper waved for a bouncer to ask around to see if anyone knew who these villainesses were. With their borderline illegal outfits and their seductive dance moves, they were turning every head, dancing with everyone and no one in particular, leaving piles of dust in their wake.

Jasper and Edward watched as the temptresses rebuffed every feeble advance attempted by hapless masked men who hadn't a hope in the world with these Goddesses.

As was the plan, Edward was Batman. He wore a soft white t-shirt with a silk-screened Batman logo on the front. He had gone to Studio 904, gotten a facial and had his hair cut and styled. His stylist applied a "raven" tinted gel to make his hair appear black. It would wash out with just one shower, so his trademark bronze locks weren't jeopardized in the least. Edward wore black jeans and black boots.

As for his mask, Edward wore a solid black demi-mask in which the top of the mask echoed the wings of a bat.

Jasper was the Penguin and he wore a burgundy tuxedo and a matching top hat. His coordinating demi-mask had slits above the nose into which Jasper could attach a long orange beak.

Edward and Jasper waited for the women to approach their table.

Certainly Poison Ivy and Catwoman wouldn't resist their Gotham friend and foe. Batman and Penguin would be the perfect temptation to tame these two.

As if following the men's script, Ivy and Cat passed directly by Edward and Jasper's table. Edward instinctively leaned out toward Poison Ivy, gently feathering a touch along her arm as she passed by. Penguin caught Catwoman's glance and refused to release his Kitten from his gaze.

The ladies offered nothing but a gleam and a smile as they ducked into the powder room, where the women indeed powdered their noses, reapplied lipstick and spritzed fresh sprays of perfume.

They relished the breather within the luxury of two lounge chairs in the ladies sitting room. They spoke in hushed tones and admitted they were having a blast at the Ball. If nothing else, the free comedy garnered from greasy men with nineties dance moves made them smile. The girls agreed that the geeks were probably as good as it was going to get. In that case, they'd give it a few more dances and call it a night.

The ladies knew each other all too well, however. So they spit in the face of the Jinx and discussed the mysterious magnetic pull to the Superhero and Villain sitting just outside. Cat said she'd never felt such a magnetic pull to her Prey. Ivy agreed that when she passed by Batman's table, she accidentally brushed her arm against his and she could swear she felt some sort of electric shock.

The ladies then discussed Plan B.

If by some miracle, Plan B, as in "best case scenario" happens and they ended up in some Batcave or Igloo within the Club, the BFF's agreed to go for the gold.

They hooked their fifth fingers and swore again to the Pinkie Promise. Except this time they agreed they'd better add a two a.m. curfew into the mix to quell any temptation to taking this into tomorrow.

If they got separated, they would simply take a cab home and text the other and give a status update. They'd either share a cab ride now, or they'd rendezvous in the morning. For better or worse, they had set their stage.

Upon exiting the powder room, Cat and Ivy were forced to cover their ears as they were assaulted by the squeal of speakers.

'Attention Ladies and Gentlemen. We want to thank everyone for coming tonight. We appreciate your generosity, and through your support, we've been able to raise nearly ten million dollars for hematology research at Harborview. Thousands of children and adults suffer from blood-related illnesses, and without the donations from patrons like you, these patients would suffer needlessly.

But, we still need your help. We are two hundred and fifty-thousand dollars short of our goal and we need you to dig deeply as we auction off priceless sports memorabilia in the silent auction, plus, of course, the moment you've been waiting for, our exclusive 'Drink and a Dance' auction!

We still need a few more ladies to volunteer. Come on ladies, certainly you'll share a drink and a dance for charity? Ladies? Ladies?"

Suddenly, an overhead spotlight circled throughout the room and landed upon Ivy and Cat. Applause roared among the crowd and with relinquished smiles, the two friends were ushered onstage.

The Drink and Dance auction was indeed the highlight of the evening; for the men that is.

Twenty women had been auctioned off as Cat and Ivy were awaiting their turn. So far, one hundred fifty thousand dollars was raised in the D & D auction. The highest bid was for twenty-five thousand. The crowd clapped in appreciative applause after every woman was "won".

Next up was Catwoman. She ascended the stage and twirled around for good measure.

"And, what's your name?" Auctioneer asked her.

She paused, remembering the shared promises of no names and no trace.

"Cat." Alice purred softly.

The entire room roared with laughter.

"No, really. Not your costume, but your name. At least your first name, come on?" Auctioneer goaded her and the crowd cheered on.

"Oh, ok. But just my first name. I'm…I'm…Selina." She said as she winked over at her friend and confidant.

"All right then, Selina. Here we go. Can I hear a thousand? A thousand for a drink and dance with the lovely Selina?"

The bids rapidly grew from a thousand to two, then four, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five and thirty.

"Going once. Going twice…." Auctioneer raised his gavel.

"Fifty-thousan' dalluhs!" Called Penguin.

"Going once, twice, SOLD!" The auctioneer clamored his hammer against the podium.

Bird walked immediately to the stage and escorted his Kitty Cat away. He didn't want to waste a single minute without her under his wing.

"Next up is the beautiful but deadly Poison Ivy." The auctioneer reached down with his rough, dry hand and took Ivy's small one and guided her up on the stage.

He covered the mike and asked for her real name.

"You can call me Pam," Ivy said with a smile.

She offered a confident wink and a demure curtsy to the crowd. The audience erupted in thunderous applause. She was a vision of contradiction. Confident, yet shy. Deadly, yet angelic.

"Thank you, Miss Pam! All right, gentlemen, last up on the auction block for a drink and a dance is the lovely, mysterious and dare I say, deadly Poison Ivy. When she's not fighting superheroes, she answers to the name of Pam."

"We'll start the bidding at twenty-five thousand dollars. Do I hear…?" But the auctioneer was cut off by frantic bids coming from every corner of the Club.

Athletes from every sport and their agents too, were caught up in a feeding frenzy for the Iced Princess disguised as Poison Ivy.

"Twenty five, thirty. Yes? Thirty-five, forty? Okay."

"Forty-five. Fifty. I see fifty!"

_Oh, if they only knew. Fire or Ice. Plant or Mineral. No matter how you defined her, Isabella was deadly._

"Ah, fifty thousand dollars!" Auctioneer smiled at Bruce Wayne, and raised his gavel.

"Going once...," and then Auctioneer was cut off.

"Seventy-five!" Came a bid from a newcomer.

"_That'll quiet the fucker down," _Thought the man with the Jester mask and blonde ponytail. He was one of the greasers that Ivy had refused to dance with, let alone maintain eye contact.

She held her breath as her eyes opened wide. This isn't good. Not good at all. She chanced a glance in the direction of Bruce Wayne, otherwise knows at Batman..

Their eyes locked in searing passion.

"Seventy-five? All right. Seventy five it is. Going once. Going twice…?" The auctioneer paused for effect. Surely this couldn't be it?

Ivy and Auctioneer were both panicked. Neither reached their goal.

He began to lower his gavel.

In a split second, Bruce raised his paddle and with an air of confident calmness called out, "One hundred fifty thousand dollars."

Audible gasps were heard throughout the club. Jester sneered first in Ivy's direction, then he attempted to burn a laser beam right through Batman's vision.

The auctioneer couldn't believe his ears. "One hundred fifty thousand dollars? Did I hear you correctly?"

Bruce Wayne nodded and never took his eyes off of Ivy.

"Going once. Going twice…SOLD! Auctioned to the Winged One for _One hundred fifty thousand dollars_!

"Thank you so, so much. We've surpassed our goal tonight. Through the silent and celebrity auctions, and with the generosity of those who are off sharing a drink and dance at this very moment, on behalf of Harborview, Gatorade, and The Players Club, I thank you! We've raised over ten million dollars for hematology research. Thank you so much!" The auctioneer wrapped up the evening.

The Band resumed their play.

Bruce maintained eye contact with Ivy and swiftly approached the stage, thwarting any efforts from Jester to ruin his moment. He'd paid an ungodly amount of his hard-earned money for just one drink and one dance. Maybe if he was charming enough, he could ask her for more. He wasn't about to hand her over to the bottom feeder who tried to outbid him.

No one ever, ever won a bidding war opposite _The Agent_. But he wouldn't take a chance with a sore loser. He'd get her out there. And fast.

Edward held out his large hands and put them on either side of her waist. He swirled her off the stage and into his arms. The electricity was most definitely there. They narrowed their eyes at the confusion of such a feeling, then embraced the continuous rumblings of the current between their two bodies.

He kissed her on the hand. The static shock electrocuted his top lip. "I believe you owe me a drink. And a dance. Care to join me in the Bat Cave below?" He whispered his best Batman impression."

Isabella nodded, but couldn't believe her ears. He placed his strong hand in the small of her back and maneuvered her through a paneled boardroom, down the spiral stairs, and into the wine cellar below.

_The Bat Cave by any other name._

She and Alice had spoken of this very possibility just an hour prior. Was it an hour already? This was most surely Option B.

As in best case scenario.

Then she started to panic just a wee little bit. How far would she let this go? Electricity. Emerald eyes. Hands that certainly have made their way around a body before.

"_Okay, just calm down,"_ She thought to herself. It's just a drink and a dance.

"I'll pick out something special." Edward spoke in a low tone, then walked around the corner searching for an illusive and perfect bottle of wine.

Bella suddenly heard music echoing throughout the cellar. Nice.

Alone. Music. With an obscenely sexy stranger. Her nerves were getting the better of the usually confident Iced Princess.

Bella needed some liquid courage. She reached underneath her dress and pulled out her vial of Absinthe. Intending to deplete the contents, she placed the vial to her lips just as Edward was rounding the corner.

He saw the tell-tale liquid glowing green in the vial. He closed the distance and tore the potion away from her lips.

The glass vial and its contents crashed onto the stone floor.

"Are you okay? You aren't cut are you? What in the hell are you doing? That shit's poisonous!" His voice was a mixture of dominance, panic, urgency and anger.

He felt protective of the woman, yet at the same time, he wanted to protect his investment.

Strangely, she cherished the thought of a man protecting her. Taking care of her. Dominating her. Bringing her to the point of passion that she'd never reached in her life.

Bella's voice hitched. She was careful not to raise her voice. She must remember the promise.

Leave no trace.

Edward uncorked the bottle of 1998 Caymus cabernet. "Shall we let it breathe for a few moments?"

Bella nodded.

"So your name's Pam? Hi, Pam, my name is…," He was interrupted.

"I don't think that's a good idea. Can't we just be Ivy and Bruce?" She asked in a hushed tone.

She was a woman out for his own heart. No names. No strings attached.

But strangely, she was someone he thought he might actually want to know. For some reason, he felt the need to connect with this poisonous siren who had so successfully tugged at his heart.

"Okay then, Ivy. I believe the deal included a dance?" He cocked his eyebrow at her in a hopeful manner. His whisper was nearly drowned out by the music above.

She was embarrassed. _Icey Bella Swan herself was flushed with apprehension. _"I. Um. I don't dance," she managed to choke out.

Edward's Batman voice was working overtime. "But I watched you on the dance floor. You're quite excellent. Intoxicating to watch, actually. Are you standing me up on our dance, Miss Ivy?"

Bella continued her whisper, "I mean I don't slow dance. I might just step on your toes, Mr. Wayne."

Edward stepped confidently in front of Bella. He took her tiny hands in his, pulled her close to him and locked his eyes with hers. "Look at me. Right in the eyes, Ivy. It's all in the leading, and I promise I won't lead you astray."

Clair de Lune began to play through the dampened speakers in the Batcave.

It was her absolute favorite song. Ever.

"Is this okay? Do you like it?" He asked her, referring to the music. His low voice was full of hope.

She shook her head. "It feels wonderful. You're quite good, really," Bella said, seeking to pull even closer into his warm, safe, strong arms.

He chuckled but didn't reveal that he wasn't referring to the dancing. He didn't want to embarrass her, although he could already tell that her flushed cheeks might just indicate a propensity for a full body blush. He could only hope to witness something so beautiful.

They continued to speak in hushed tones.

"Your eyes. You've got such deep green eyes. It's as if they're aching to tell a secret. And your hair. It's like fire. It fits you, you know. You are like fire to me. I just want you to consume me." Edward ran his fingers through her hair, and untied the crystal encrusted lace ribbon that was tied within.

Her hair fell completely down as the lace fell to the floor.

They stood on the makeshift dance floor and within their safe embrace, their lips met. Their kiss was gentle and never greedy. Their lips parted and their tongues danced. Theirs was a kiss of longing, a kiss of letting go.

Edward knew the wine cellar well. He knew that around the corner, was a smaller, separate cigar lounge, which was completely vented to the outside. There were spiral stairs that led from the cigar lounge to the street above. The Washington State Department of Alcohol and Beverage Control didn't allow smoking where alcohol was served, so this room had to be completely separate from the club.

"Shall we get more comfortable, Ivy?" He asked her.

She nodded her head and whispered, "Please."

He led her into the lounge. As they walked into the room, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips and breathed, "Stay right here. Don't move an inch."

While Ivy stood in the Cigar Lounge doorway Hero left and returned just a moment later with a long white linen tablecloth.

He shut and locked the solid wooden door, enclosing them safely and privately deep within the cave.

He placed the linen on the overstuffed leather recliner.

She closed the distance and joined him on the pristine linen that blanketed the leather.

Their lips met once more.

Edward's kiss left her lips and trailed down her neck. Bella arched her neck backward, giving his lips better access.

She ran her fingers through his tousled, sexy, soft black hair.

She gently caressed his back, tracing his strong muscles.

Edward's lips continued to explore her body. He kissed along the poisonous vines.

Bella's lace dress left little to the imagination. She wasn't wearing a bra or panties.

The painted leaves of ivy were artistically and strategically placed along her body so that nothing was revealed, but at the same time, her entire body was exposed.

Their kisses remained gentle, but the passion within those kisses was like a blazing fire.

Their hands continued to explore, and Bella wanted to touch him. She began to pull up Edward's shirt, un-tucking it from his jeans.

Bella looked at his Batman shirt and agreed that indeed he was the Superhero. This man had reached deep into her soul and saved her from herself – even if only for one night.

She traced the line of the Bat logo, causing his chest to tingle.

Bella allowed her hands to trail down to his jeans. She hesitantly wrapped her fingers on his waste, found a belt loop and gave a gentle tug.

"Are you sure you want this?" Edward asked, hoping that her answer was yes.

"Positive," Bella whispered, and she pulled her hands away from Edward's jeans and pulled her lace mini dress over her head.

Edward kicked off his boots, and then removed his t-shirt, jeans and boxers. Bella noticed that he was chiseled head to toe, like a Grecian statue. But his skin was so soft.

Except for a part of him, a prominent part of him, that was very, very hard.

Edward reached around his head and began to remove his demi-mask.

"The mask stays," She whispered breathlessly. This dark, dry cellar held no room for romance but was the perfect place for passion.

Edward kissed every vine and every leaf on her body. He noticed the broken and torn leaf on her heart and thought he should ask her about it. He wanted to fix her.

His gentle touch ghosted across the vines. His kisses and feathered touches scorched her body.

"We can stop if you want to. Tell me now, do you want to stop?" Edward actually wanted her to say it. He really didn't want just one night. He wanted to tear off his mask and show her his face. He wanted to see hers.

One night would never be enough with this woman.

"I want you. Please. I need you," Bella choked.

Edward reached down beside the recliner and pulled a packet from his jeans pocket.

And he tore the foil.

He hovered over her for a moment and continued to kiss her, to explore her. He waited for her to say no.

She didn't.

Her arms embraced him, pulling him closer. She wanted him to close the distance.

_I need you. _

She had said that she needed him. And, so with that sense of urgency, of longing in her voice, he wouldn't say no.

He entered her slowly, recognizing how she felt so right, so tight, as if there was a barrier stopping him from his goal. He increased his pressure and then filled her completely.

She gasped at that exact moment.

"Are you all right, baby?" His low tone echoed in her ear.

"You're perfect." Was her answer.

"No, my love, you are perfect." And, Edward kissed her gently on her neck, along her carotid.

He felt her pulse racing.

His lips found hers once again and she deepened the kiss.

His hands were on the recliner, enabling him to hold his body above hers.

And, with a gentle, rocking motion, they made love. It wasn't greedy, or lustful, or evil or wrong.

It was right. It was beautiful, it was passionate. It was perfect.

Their passion turned to fire and their breathing became hard and fast. She shuddered underneath him.

He followed her into the fire.

He thought he saw a single tear run down her cheek, but he couldn't be sure.

"Beautiful. That was so beautiful. You are beautiful," He whispered to her, as he placed gentle kisses on her neck.

An hour and a half had gone by, and having been fantastically ravaged, Ivy offered a kiss goodbye. "Thank you for the drinks and, of course, the _dance_."

Then she reached for her lace dress and purse.

"Please. Can I have your name?" Batman implored.

"Pam. Pamela Isley," she whispered, and ascended the spiral staircase that led outside into the brisk night air.

With tears pooling in her eyes, daring to fall, Bella hailed a cab. She'd text Alice as soon as she caught her breath.

She thought about the man she met; the hero to her villainess. She thought about how wonderful it was to let go and let someone love her.

If only for one night.

She'd leave the paint on for the rest of the night, not quite ready to say goodbye to Ivy.

The morning shower would arrive soon enough, and the water would wash away all traces of the paint.

And she'd wear her mask once more.

**xXx**

While Batman and Ivy were dancing in the Batcave, Penguin danced on the dance floor with Catwoman. They sat down at the VIP table and Penguin called for a server to bring over a bottle of champagne.

"I already have something," Cat admitted, then she pulled the vial out from under her dress.

Cat was about ready to take a sip when Penguin grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not quite sure if that's such a good idea, Kitten, at least not out in public," Pen explained gently..

With his arm encased in Cat's, he asked her, "Shall we take this private party into my office, Pussycat."

"How about we share your champagne and my magic potion and we'll go down the rabbit hole together?" she purred back to him.

For the next hour, the Green Fairy sprinkled her magic dust and the Cat and Bird were less predator and prey and more hand in glove.

Was it love at first sight or was it the Fairy speaking?

For the first time in her life, Alice didn't care that her guard was down. She had fallen, and fallen hard. A single tear escaped her eye, as she shimmied back into her lace catsuit. She tried to open the door, but was blocked by Jasper.

"I want to wake up every morning with your sweet purr in my ear. Please. I think love you. What is your name?" Jasper begged.

She hesitated. She really, really wanted to tell him the truth. But, she'd promised Bella that tonight there would be no names, no numbers, and no trace.

"Selina Kyle." And, with that, she walked out of the igloo and back into the raging club. When she didn't see her friend, she darted out the front door and into the back of a Yellow Cab. When her tears dried, she'd text Bella to make sure she made it home.

But her tears wouldn't stop and they streamed down her cheeks.

Alice loved him, too.

**xXx**

Monday arrived and Edward could think of nothing else but the captivating woman named "Pam Isley". When he should have been making phone calls and brokering deals for his athletes, he was thinking about Pam. He didn't have the time to search for her himself, so he paid the two hundred dollars and had the experts perform an advanced "people search".

It came up empty. No Facebook account. No Twitter account. No local cell phone record. No land line. No license registered within the Washington DMV, or any of the fifty states for that matter.

It was as if she simply didn't exist.

Jasper had done a similar search in his quest to find Selina Kyle. He ended up empty handed as well.

The three men met that evening at The Players Club. Emmett talked about his trip to Hawaii with "Blondie". He told them he still didn't plan on bringing her around. Emmett said he was in love with her.

For real.

Emmett said that he wasn't going to corrupt her quite yet with his friend's presence. They wouldn't be meeting her anytime soon.

But someday he'd grace them with her beauty and intellect. She was a doctor, you know. Not a real doctor-doctor. But a psychiatrist or something like that.

She rocked his world. She fixed his Jeep.

Edward and Jasper talked about the women that captivated their hearts and minds.

Edward talked about Pam's red hair and her bright green eyes. He talked about her soft voice and her quiet nature. He said she had creamy white porcelain skin. He talked about her gentle touch.

Edward said he'd never met a woman in his whole life that was quite like her.

Jasper talked in no uncertain terms that he had fallen in love again. He talked about how she showed no pretenses and somehow he could feel the emotions that were exuding from her beautiful heart and mind.

Edward and Jasper talked to each other about their failed attempts to find these women.

Then, Emmett asked for the names of these mystery-women.

They told him.

Emmett laughed hard. Really hard. He leaned back on his chair as he laughed.

He laughed so hard his chair fell out from under him and Emmett crashed to the floor.

But he kept on laughing so hard his sides hurt.

His rude behavior quickly grated on Edward's and Jasper's nerves.

Edward asked Emmett what the fuck his problem was.

Emmett's boisterous laugh was heard throughout the club. "Selina Kyle and Pamela Isley? Both of you should've put down your accounting manuals and opened up a comic book once in while, 'cause you two have been played."

Emmett glared in Edward's direction. "And, by the way, the next time you book me a commercial, I want to see the script first. I only had one line to say, but it took me twenty-two takes to finally get it right. It was embarrassing, man! You'd never believe what those fuckers at Trojan made me say!"

**xxxxXxxxx**

**A/N**

**Wanna know what Emmett's line was in the Trojan commercial? **

**Leave me a review or a smiley : ) and I'll PM you!**

**Special thanks to all the people around the world who are reading, alerting and fav'ing. I really appreciate your support.**

**xXx**

**Follow me on twitter (at) hockeymomtweets and I'll follow you right back**

**So, what's up with those "fake" names that Isabella and Alice used at the Maskorade Ball?**

*** Pamela Isley "is"**_**Poison Ivy**_** in the Batman comics. **

*** Selina Kyle "is" **_**Catwoman**_** and was first introduced in the **_**Batman **_** television series in 1940. She is a villainess, but not "evil", more like a cat burglar. She broke the "glass ceiling" as a female in the comics and predates Wonder Woman and all the others.**

**xXx**

**I want to make sure I thank author "Ironic Twist", because it was her fic "Harder they Fall" that actually inspired this chapter, which of course led to this fic. Please give her fic a look. It's a well written story with an original storyline.**

**xXx**

**A&E is dedicated to my RL friends and neighbors**

**LD, MR, MK**

**Thanks for the support and encouragement**

**The Alice in Wonderland Teapot is filled with PG Tips **

**Just for you**


	4. The Joker

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners.**_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**I own the plot line. The poetry is original. **_

_**Thank you to my beta, Ironic Twist.**_

_**You not only inspired this fic with your awesome story, **_

_**but you've become my mentor.**_

_**Thanks for kicking my tail and stretching my boundaries.**_

_**I'm becoming a better writer because of it.**_

**xxxxXxxxx**

**Previously:**

Bruce maintained eye contact with Ivy and swiftly approached the stage, thwarting any efforts by Jester to ruin his moment. He'd paid an ungodly amount of his hard-earned money for just one drink and one dance. Maybe if he was charming enough, he could ask her for more. He wasn't about to hand her over to the bottom feeder who tried to outbid him.

No one ever, ever won a bidding war opposite _The Agent_. But he wouldn't take a chance with a sore loser. He'd get her out there. And fast.

**xXx**

**Chapter 4: The Joker**

_One hundred fifty thousand dollars?_

_One hundred fifty thousand dollars!_

The motherfucker outbid him.

Jester knew damned well who Bruce was - and vice versa.

Edward Fucking Cullen. The Agent. Owner of TPC, and god of the universe incarnate.

How many women walked on that stage before Ivy? Twenty? Thirty?

And the motherfucker had to stake his claim on the only one that James wanted; the one who wouldn't even grant him one freaking dance, for Christ's sake.

She may not have given him that dance and The Agent might have paid an ungodly amount for just one, but make no mistake. Jester was going to get that dance; one way or another.

But Bruce Wayne whisked her away, down the spiral staircase into the cellar below.

As a member of TPC, James knew the club like the back of his hand. He knew the cellar was closed for this event and he knew that, as an owner, Edward would have a key to his very own Batcave. When minutes turned into hours, thoughts of what was transpiring below caused a cacophony of angry, jealous and vengeful thoughts, which fueled Jester's resolve.

Batman and Ivy, what an oxymoron. It made Jester sick just to think about it. Ivy and Joker, crusaders of the dark--now that was more like it.

The fact that his enemy in business, Edward Cullen, was his nemesis in pleasure as well, made his thirst for revenge overpowering.

Joker versus Batman, a rivalry made for the silver screen.

This was going to be good.

Jester would show Ivy what a real man could do for her. When Batman turned his back, James would forgive Beauty her blatant blunder.

The Agent may have rented her for a few short hours, but James would own her outright. All he had to do was watch and wait.

The valet brought his black Mercedes to the front of the Club. James handed the kid a fifty and scrawled his cell number with a Sharpie, right over Grant's picture. He told the boy there were more where that came from if he would text him when the painted lady exited the building.

However, that was just a contingency plan. He was leaving nothing to chance. James drove his sleek sedan around TPC and idled quietly in the shadows where he awaited Ivy's ascension from the Cigar Room.

He didn't have to wait long.

He watched as her heel caught on one of the rungs of the stairs. She recovered quite nicely and took the rest two at a time. She practically ran down the sidewalk to the taxi stand and then stole a glance back to see if Bruce was watching.

He wasn't--yet.

Ivy entered the cab and just as the driver pulled into traffic, Batman bounded up from below. He ran towards the cab and held out his hand, hoping to catch her attention.

He didn't.

He stood there, alone in the street, his claws clutching the ribbon which rippled freely in the light breeze.

Batman watched as the taxi pulled away and she rode out of his life.

Then he saw a sleek, black sedan pull right out behind her.

James turned his head to the left, successfully avoiding Edward's gaze. While he followed the taxi, he called his step brother, who was inside the Club that very minute.

James's mom married Laurent's dad when the boys were 13-years old. They were French Canadian, and had grown up in Victoriaville, just south of Quebec.

It was actually James who had tipped his brother off about the security job at TPC. James was a member and had slipped Laurent's resume under Jasper's office door the day the position posted. No one was aware of their kinship, a fact they found mutually beneficial, especially in times like these.

Laurent answered on the first ring. "Nice mask, Jester. Italian? No matter, what can I do for you at this late hour?" Laurent was a tall man with long black dreads, a wiry build, skin the color of cinnamon and a thick French accent.

James had Americanized his speech patterns years prior. It was better for business.

"I need a small favor. I need you to burn me a copy of tonight's video feed from both the Cellar and the Cigar Rooms. Will that be a problem?" James knew it wouldn't.

"Considérez-le fait, mon frère," Laurent promised.

_Consider it done, my brother._

And it was.

James watched as the Yellow Cab pulled across the street in the front of a newly renovated building. He drove half a block up and pulled into a loading zone. The car idled as he skulked in the shadows watching as Ivy paid the driver, crossed the street and entered her building.

He glanced at the building number before turning his attention to the darkened windows. His patience was rewarded when a bright light flickered on. He counted the floors. A few taps on his Blackberry were all it took to lay her life bare before him.

"_Isabella Marie Swan, Esq. – 25-years old. D.O.B.: 09/13/1984. Attorney for the Seattle Mariner's. Graduated Magna Cum Laude with a J.D. from Arizona State University Law School. Recently received a not-so-flattering mention in Sports Illustrated. Drives a __2009 Capri Blue Mercedes Cabriolet convertible. Washington license tag # __**S-QYR 09. **__The only daughter of Charles Swan, Chief of Police, Forks, Washington and Renee Dwyer, wife of Diamondbacks player Philip Dwyer from Phoenix, Arizona." _

James Gagne' had all the information he needed. His predatory draw to her brought him to her building early Sunday morning where he watched and waited for her to leave. Late in the afternoon, at 3:37 pm to be precise, she exited her building, drove to the 5th Avenue Theatre, and entered with a non-descript bag of unknown contents. She remained in the theatre for forty minutes. She then drove to Spa Blix where she remained for two hours prior to exiting the spa with her hair colored a deep mahogany.

Isabella then drove to The Players Club, where she circled the building twice. She then returned to her home, arriving at 6:52 pm. She remained in the building and did not leave until 6:37 Monday morning, when she drove to her office at Safeco Field.

Suddenly a smirk swept across James's face. He'd thought of a way to send Isabella screaming for the hills, far away from the claws of Edward Cullen.

And his plan was put into motion when he walked through the door of a flower shop.

**xXx**

Isabella awoke Sunday afternoon and stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall in her en suite bathroom. She stared at her naked form, and a faint smile crept across her lips as she took one long last look at the paint that had transformed her…liberated her.

She gave him everything she had to offer, but she got so much more in return.

With feather light touches, her fingers glided across the vines on her face and traced over her lids, along the lines of the painted mask.

She would miss this painted mask that she temporarily traded for the façade she wore every day.

Her hands ghosted over the gnarled vines and ivy that cascaded down her neck and caressed her breasts.

She tilted her head slightly to the side. Her brows furrowed lightly as she focused on the wilted leaf that lay dying above her heart.

He had kissed it and made it feel better.

She longed to again feel his warm, soft tongue as he traced the poisonous vine along her body. Goose flesh arose and she quivered at the memory.

As her hands continued their exploration, her neck involuntarily arched and her hair tickled her bottom, as the now-tangled and matted curls flowed down her back.

She moved her head in circles stretching her neck, as if trying to release the stress within. Her lids fluttered open as her fingers found their way to the small soft peaks of her chest, where his lips had found purchase on her nipples, camouflaged amongst the ivy, mere hours ago.

She brought her finger to her mouth and moistened it before tracing the same path that Bruce had: over her breasts, across her stomach, down the painted V and around her right thigh. Then she tried to mimic the way he had entered her, softly, gently. She shuddered as she whispered his name, "Bruce…."

And, although it didn't feel the same, at least she could feel something.

For years she merely existed--numb.

She had been nothing more than an echo in the performance hall as the symphony of life played around her. At last, she had heard the music and it was a sweet, sweet sound.

But the time had come to wash away the poisonous vine and exchange it for the armor she wore every day.

Isabella entered the tiled shower and turned the knob so that a waterfall poured from the ceiling. She squirted lavender-scented gel on the loofah and began to scrub.

She squeezed the tube of exfoliating cream and poured a quarter-sized dollop into her palm. Isabella worked the cream gently over her eyelids, face and neck. The green and brown paint from her face as well as some red tint from her hair flowed like a river down the valley between her breasts.

No matter how much shampoo she used, however, she couldn't seem to get all of the red "rinse" out of her hair. She'd have to go to the salon.

She craned her neck to inspect her skin to make sure that every trace of Marcus's masterpiece was gone. It was, except for the faint outline of the withered leaf over her heart.

Why won't it come off? She remembered how it got there. Marcus put it there. Why won't it fade? Her memory of the kiss might never fade, but the leaf should be gone.

**xXx**

It's crazy how destructive our formative years can be.

It started with Renee and her flightiness. When, as a parent, she never parented. Instead of a role model she was an object lesson. As a moral compass, she pointed south. When she should have been building her daughter up, she was instead knocking her down."

When Bella was in high school in Phoenix she dated a boy. He was two years older than her, and she crushed on him before he ever knew who she was.

But then he saw her and like a fly in a web, he was ensnared.

She watched him play football and saw when he scored the winning touchdown in the last ten seconds of the first varsity game of the season. She was his loudest cheerleader.

She wasn't a pom-pom shaking, megaphone-toting, short skirt and midriff-shirt wearing cheerleader, but she yelled really loudly for him from the stands. She called his name.

And the real pom-pom-shaking, megaphone-toting, short skirt and midriff-shirt wearing cheerleaders wished they were her, because he was the hottest and coolest boy in school.

But Bella liked him because she thought he was genuine.

He stole glances at her during his football games and she was always watching and cheering for him.

They ate lunch together with his senior friends. He held her hand and walked her to class. They kissed by her locker. He took her on real dates. Bella didn't have a curfew even though she wasn't yet sixteen. Maybe her mom trusted her.

Or maybe she just didn't care.

He was her very first real boyfriend and Isabella thought it was love.

His name was Austin Marks and his father owned two Honda dealerships; one in Phoenix and one in Scottsdale. His mother spent her days flitting around the Moon Valley Country Club playing tennis and golf with her socialite friends.

But Bella knew nothing about the car dealerships, the country club membership or his mom's socialite friends, because she never even went to his house.

Austin told Bella he was more comfortable at her house, sitting in the cramped family room in Bella's tiny two-bedroom home in Tempe. But it was just Renee and Bella so it was fine for them, at least as far as Bella was concerned. And Renee was rarely around, so it was really just Bella anyway.

And Austin.

While Bella was eating a strawberry frosted Pop-Tart one rare rainy morning, Renee told her that she saw Austin at the country club during dinner the night before. She'd waited on his family herself.

Austin was such a nice boy. He introduced her to his mother and father and they seemed friendly enough. But they weren't.

Renee was fired from Moon Valley just a few days later when word got out she was having an affair with one of the members. Apparently, his socialite wife didn't like it.

Austin's mother approached Bella during the Friday night football game and told her she was no better than her tramp of a mother. She said that Bella would never amount to anything. She called her a gold digger and said that Bella would try to trap her son by getting pregnant on purpose.

Bella explained that they'd only held hands and kissed. She said it wasn't like that.

Bella backed away, but Austin held on tight. He told her to ignore his mother, and told her that she didn't know what she was talking about.

It was fall and Austin was being aggressively scouted by Alabama, Virginia Tech, Ohio State and WVU, among others. He was on track to get offers from some of the best colleges in the United States.

Austin's parents didn't like the way that Bella hung around after games. When he should have been talking with the college scouts, he was arm in arm with Bella next to the bleachers.

His parents hounded him:

"You've seen her mother. You know her type."

"Her father is nothing more than a cop."

Bella was holding him down; keeping him from his lifetime goal of playing professional football. If he didn't get into a top ten NCAA Division One team, then he could hang it up, because he wouldn't make pro.

But Austin told his parents that he really liked her. And she wasn't at all like her mother.

"Really, Mom," he pleaded his case….

But his father had a friend from his old college days who was a trainer for Texas. Trainer told Austin that he really did need to focus on football. But Austin didn't want to listen.

Even to Trainer.

So his father bought him a sports car, a really fast and sleek brand-new Honda S-2000 sports car. It was one of first that rolled off the lot in the country.

"Just a little break is all we're asking. Just until football season is over," they bribed.

No calls, no dates, no Bella, and he could have the car, and most likely a football scholarship.

Being young and impressionable, the boy did indeed break up with Bella. She told him that she knew it was his parent's talking, that it wasn't him. But he told her it was for the best.

She asked him how it could be for the best when they'd be apart. He asked her what her real motivations were. "Maybe you're a gold digger after all," he accused. "You're not good for me," he said.

Bella was heartbroken. She was just a sophomore and he was her first love. She had crushed on him hard and now she was crushed by the horrible words he'd said to her. She was physically sick that he was willing to throw away everything they had for a new car and some fake friends.

He avoided her all week.

A couple of times she thought she'd caught him looking her way. She still missed holding his hand and kissing him by her locker. All she had left now were the love notes he'd written her and his red and black practice jersey.

It had been a gift, after all.

She slept in it every night - clinging to it like a security blanket when she cried herself to sleep because Renee wasn't home to see her cry.

Friday night when Austin scored the first touchdown of the game, he looked up in the stands, but Bella wasn't there. She wasn't cheering for him. He looked and he looked but she hadn't come.

When the scout from West Virginia tried to talk to him, Austin wasn't paying attention at all, because he was wondering whether Bella would be at Pizza Hut after the game.

She wasn't.

Austin was miserable without Bella. The car and fake friends that had come out of the woodwork to bum rides were not worth the trade off. He cared about Bella, and his overbearing, manipulative parents would just have to deal.

Renee saw Bella Saturday afternoon. She told Bella that it was pitiful that she still wore the jersey. She called it pathetic the way that Bella remained clinging to the jersey because she couldn't hold on to the real thing. Renee told her to go and find herself another football player if that's what she wanted.

But Bella didn't want another football player, she wanted Austin.

But her mom was probably right--about the football jersey anyway.

So she made the decision to give the jersey back to Austin. She didn't want to be pitiful or pathetic. The jersey was from a few seasons ago and he didn't use it or need it or anything, but she knew she had to let him go. She made the decision that she would give it back when she saw him at school on Monday.

Sunday night Austin gave his father back the keys to his almost brand-new car and told him to take it back to his dealership. He told them that in the morning, he was riding the bus to school and was planning to beg Bella to forgive him and take him back.

His mother drove to school and beat that bus.

She saw Bella carrying the jersey in her arms. She approached Bella and told her to stay the hell away from her son--that he didn't want anything to do with her.

She said Bella was nothing but a two-bit whore just like her mother. She said it was pathetic the way she was trying to beg Austin to take her back.

And then she called Bella pitiful. Pitiful and pathetic.

_Pitiful._

_Pathetic._

The very same words her mother had used.

Bella choked on her own saliva and tried to say that she was just planning to give the jersey back, that she wouldn't interfere, that she cared enough to let him follow his dreams.

His mother snatched the jersey out of Bella's arms and told her to consider her message delivered. Then she muttered that Bella was as poisonous as a diamondback and that she would kill any chance Austin had of making it big. She informed Bella that she'd never amount to anything and that Austin didn't want anything to do with her anymore.

Only Austin's parents knew differently and they had to act quickly.

His father called the scout from Alabama, who had interviewed his son just last weekend, and with whom he, himself, had shared four beers. He said he knew it was a long shot, but he asked if Scout knew of any prep schools on the East Coast that could use a running back like Austin.

It just so happened that Scout did. And he certainly hoped that his help would make a difference when Austin had to sign that letter of intent regarding college football next fall.

It seemed there was a prep school in New Jersey that was in dire need of a starting running back. Their star senior RB got arrested for dealing cocaine in the parking lot after a football game. As much as the school tried to bury it at first, he was eighteen and the arrest made the papers. The school thought it was fate that Scout had called. The boy was expelled. Austin was enrolled--in high school and in college.

All on a Monday.

Bella watched from the other end of the hall as Austin cleaned out his locker with his mother by his side. His teammates and friends watched as Austin's mother glared at Bella, as they had watched what had transpired in the hallway between Bella and his mom earlier in the day.

They saw Austin's mom whispering to her son and pointing at Bella. They knew that Austin was leaving and that their football program would tank without him.

And they knew that, somehow, Bella Swan was responsible.

**xXx**

She rarely thought of him anymore. Actually, she was grateful, grateful to Mrs. Marks and her Mama's Boy son, Austin. Because of them, she would never be labeled as pitiful or pathetic again. She would never be confused with someone who was trying to climb the social ladder on someone else's back. Isabella was driven to succeed. She would not climb a ladder, but rather, she would smash right through the glass ceiling.

She'd read about it in Cosmo.

The glass ceiling, that is.

She read about the glass ceiling while sitting in the waiting room in the dentist's office.

It was the summer before her junior year of high school and she read anything and everything she could get her hands on.

One morning while she was jogging, she passed by three boxes of books that someone was throwing away. They were real college textbooks. The first one to catch her eye was a three-inch-thick book entitled, _Law and Ethics_. A real law book from a real law school. As she dug deeper, she could tell that the three boxes were filled with college and law school textbooks. She wondered who in the world would throw away their textbooks, but figured their loss was her gain.

She knocked on the door anyway to make sure that the boxes weren't for charity or something. It turned out that the books belonged to the woman's son, who had dropped out of ASU law school the end of his second year.

He had decided to pursue acting of all things.

Bella ran home and borrowed her mom's car. Renee would never know because she hadn't come home yet from her date the night before; the one with that real live Diamondbacks baseball player.

Bella returned to the nice woman's home and loaded up those textbooks.

July came and Isabella fought tooth and nail, not wanting to travel to Washington to see her father, Charlie. But he was adamant and Renee told her that the court order mandated it, so she might as well pack her bags and go.

Isabella had read about custody agreements in the family law book she was reading.

She was going to be a lawyer someday, she'd decided. So she wasn't going to sully her chances by getting arrested or something.

She packed a small suitcase of clothes and three suitcases full of books. Charlie might make her go to Forks, but he couldn't pull her away from her books.

That was the summer she met Jacob; nearly nine months after Austin walked out of her life.

Isabella actually grew to care about Jake very much. She never truly let him in, though; her armor was firmly in place by then. But she did care for him like family. She loved him like a brother. He got to call her Bella. But only by association because Charlie still called her that.

To Jacob, Bella was everything. It was the best summer of his life

Bella returned to Phoenix in the middle of August to find that her mother Renee had gotten married to the "love of her very existence."

As she put it.

Phil was closer in age to Isabella than Renee. Only Renee knows what first attracted her to him. Was it the fact that he was young and therefore made her feel younger? Was it that he was wealthy and could support her? Was it that she was always attracted to jocks and he was an outfielder for the Diamondbacks? Or was it by some small chance that Renee actually loved him?

Truth be told, as far as Isabella was concerned, she liked him as a person simply because he was nice. He'd never really be a step-father to her, because of the age and everything. But, somehow, in that short expanse of time, he felt the need to support her just like he supported her mother.

By the time Isabelle returned to Phoenix from Forks, Renee had already moved their entire household into Phil's mansion. She was enjoying the plush lifestyle of the wife of a player. His house--their house--overlooked the sixteenth green at the Moon Valley Country Club, of which they were members. Renee tried to worm her way into the very socialite group that scorned her just a few months prior. But the women never called her to join them for lunch or tennis or even to lounge by the pool. Because the socialites, as shallow as they were, recognized Renee for what she was…a climber.

The Dwyers, as a couple, certainly got invited to their fair share of backyard barbeques. Isabella suspected that the Dwyer's new-found friends were simply extending invitations in the hopes of exchanging a few burgers for a few tickets to some home games.

For all of the days that Isabella lived next to Moon Valley, she never once stepped foot on the grounds. She didn't want to chance running into the Marks, the pit vipers themselves. Even though everything worked out for the best, Isabella was certain she wouldn't play nice.

**xXx**

The summer before Isabella's senior year, she was sure that Charlie wouldn't enforce the visitation.

But he did.

So, once again, she piled books into her two big suitcases and filled a smaller one with clothes. Only this time, they were designer, because Isabella had her very own no-limit credit card.

Charlie and Jacob picked her up at the airport and neither could have been happier.

To Jacob, Isabella was everything. To Isabella, Jacob was comfortable

Jacob was two years behind Bella in school, but he always seemed more mature than that. Maybe it was his Native American heritage, because whenever Bella went to the reservation, it always seemed so ceremonial.

When she was a sophomore at Arizona State University and he was a senior at Forks High, he came to visit her, and the ASU baseball program. He was an All-American and had scouts looking at him ever since he was a sophomore. He experienced his growth spurt early and never seemed to stop. He was speedy and had lightning-fast reflexes, and one hell of a swing.

Jake could've had his pick of just about any college baseball program in the country, he was that good. But he chose ASU, because Bella was there.

She kept him at a distance. He took what he could get.

She became an obsession. He became a habit.

Bella did so well in undergrad and on her LSAT's that she got a full ride scholarship to ASU Law School. Jake was happy because he got to spend more time with her in Tempe. He was drafted into the Yankees farm program when Bella was still in law school. He told her he loved her hundreds of times.

She told him she loved him, but didn't "love him, love him." She told him that hundreds of times. He proposed to her anyway, and she turned him down. Every time. It was the summer before her third year of law school when he dropped on bended knee and had a ring and everything. He was on the verge of something big and he wanted to share everything with her.

She didn't love him the way he loved her; she told him that. But when it came time to draft an agreeable contract with the Yankees, she could do the next best thing.

She was working as a law intern for the Diamondbacks and knew everything there was to know about salary ranges and contracts, so it was the least she could do. She would be his unofficial lawyer since she wasn't an official one yet.

No one would ever have to know.

So Bella drafted the terms and looked over his contract when he faxed it to her. Jacob acted as his own agent and didn't have to pay a percentage of his salary to anybody. Bella may not have loved him but she saved him millions of dollars. And that was certainly worth something.

She helped him from the back end and no one was the wiser.

**xXx**

It was Monday afternoon and the sun shined brightly into Isabella's office. Dust motes danced within the bright beam that acted as a spotlight as it lit up the numerous framed diplomas, bar certificates and awards that covered the entire eastern wall.

She hadn't yet reached her one-year anniversary from law school, but through sheer determination alone, Isabella's accreditations stood miles apart from her colleagues. Most of the attorneys she worked with had grown complacent over the years; content in their comfort zones.

They were happy to lean back in their chairs, loosen their belts and earn their fat paychecks settling cases in front of an arbitrator while taking few steps outside of the state of Washington.

Isabella, however, was licensed to practice law in fourteen states and U.S. territories, earning those privileges by sitting for the actual state bar exams, passing Attorneys Exams, or through reciprocity.

Maryland was one of the fourteen, and Isabella was the only attorney on the Mariners legal team who was licensed to practice law in that state. She sat behind her walnut desk as her fingers flew across the keyboard while she ran through her final edit of a lawsuit that had been a long time coming.

A smile crossed her face. She wondered if her pleasant mood was the satisfaction she felt knowing she couldn't stand the very sight of the skanky motherfucker that was the co-defendant in the case. Or if it was that she couldn't stop thinking about her night with Hero and the fact that she decided to throw caution to the wind.

She'd talked to Alice, and they'd agreed to throw their pinkie promise--the one about no looking back, no matter what--out the window.

It was a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

And they'd changed theirs in favor of chasing destiny. At least that's how Alice had worded it.

Whatever the cause, Isabella was smiling. She was truly happy for the first time in a long time.

She put the finishing touches on the final draft of the case she would file electronically the following morning. She'd give the defense a day to digest and gain a false sense of hope. Then she'd gladly agree to meet with them on Wednesday, on their turf, in Maryland.

She would bury his ass and flip the Orioles the bird.

She glanced through the first few paragraphs, which outlined the case.

_On this Thirtieth Day of March, in the year twenty thousand ten, the following case, Mariners v. Orioles and Campbell, is hereby filed in the United States District Court for the District of Maryland, Baltimore Division:_

_The Baseball Club of Seattle d.b.a. the Seattle Mariners (Plaintiff) _

_v._

_Baltimore Orioles L.P. and Geoffrey Campbell (Defendants)._

_Plaintiff alleges that during his time of employ with the Seattle Mariners Organization, Mr. Campbell breached his signed confidentiality agreement and willfully stole confidential and proprietary information including but not limited to research pertaining to recruits and trade targets, salary negotiations, agent percentage values, salary and compensation windows, and intentionally committed theft of film and electronic media containing specialized training techniques._

_Further, Mr. Campbell utilized the United States Postal Service Express Mail system to ship aforementioned film and documents to Baltimore Orioles L.P., thereby breaking interstate commerce laws, copy right laws and patent infringement laws. Mr. Campbell transported said stolen goods across state lines, thereby committing a felony._

_The case further establishes that the Orioles knowingly and willfully accepted such proprietary information, developed by the Mariners at great expense, and used said information in their recruiting, rostering and planning efforts for the 2010 Major League Baseball season and beyond._

_The Mariner's suffered,_ _and will continue to suffer, extreme and irreversible hardship due to such wanton illegal conduct and flagrant disregard for the Mariner's property rights. _

_Due to such blatant improprieties, Plaintiff seeks monetary damages in the amount of one hundred million dollars._

Take that, fuckers.

She saved the document and turned off her laptop. She'd think more about it tomorrow.

Tonight, Isabella would tear off her armor and start living again.

She was meeting Alice for happy hour at Palomino, a trendy hot spot located just a few blocks from 5th Avenue Theatre. Isabella could already taste the mojitos and she licked her lips at the very thought of it. Her thoughts were interrupted by a text message from the devil herself.

**Alice: I m waiting 4u. RU** **still in??? **

**Alice: please say yes… : )**

_**Isabella: all in**_

**Alice: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Alice: Dstny I swear! **

**Alice: but I will prob DIE of old age! Ur taking too long!**

_**Isabella: out th door in 2 mins**_

**Alice: k. cu in a few.**

_**Isabella: Palomino…then**_ _**TPC?**_

**Alice: : ( not 2nite. Mon nite = membrz only**

**Alice: 2nite we plan. Tom nite we go 2 TPC!**

**Alice: patience lvrgirl**

Isabella huffed out a gentle laugh at the thought.

Bruce had been her first and it really was all that and a bag of chips.

She was getting ready to text back a snarky response when her intercom buzzed.

Lauren's voice screeched through, "Isabella, there's a delivery for you. Someone sent you a…uh…plant." The disdain was evident in her voice.

"Thanks, Lauren. Give me one minute to finish up. Ask them to wait a moment."

Isabella knew that Lauren did not have her back. If anything, Isabella knew that the only thing Lauren would want to do with Isabella's back was plunge a knife into it.

Isabella had the law degree. Lauren did not. Isabella made a six figure salary. Lauren did not. Isabella earned every penny she made. Lauren…not so much.

Isabella pulled countless all-nighters and did anything and everything to ensure success for herself and the Mariners. Lauren acted like fucking Fred Flintstone and was out the door when the horn blasted at five o'clock.

Isabella had won every single one of her court cases on behalf of the Mariners. All with no help from her "legal assistant" Lauren; unless of course you thought that winning a case hinged on the ability to fetch black coffee. Then again, Lauren couldn't even get that right.

And it wasn't Lauren who apparently had a floral delivery waiting for her. Nope. It was Isabella.

Isabella thought about how it had been forever since she received flowers; ever since Jake.

But she quickly banished that thought from her head and replaced it with a more sensible option. _Alice._ Of course Alice had something to do with it.

Isabella quickly texted her.

_**Isabella: Did u send me somethg?**_

**Alice: No. Wwhadya get?**

_**Isabella: plant? Idk?**_

**Alice: Ohhh. Maby from yur suprhero : )**

**Alice: he found u. OMG!!! so romntc**

_**Isabella: right**_

**Alice: Fate!!! So glad 4 u it wasn't sleezoid pony-tail guy that won u!!!!**

**Alice: Batman loves Ivy 3**

The intercom buzzed five more times.

_**Isabella: g2g**_ _**cu at Palomino**_

**Alice: ****: )**

Isabella opened her office door and in walked a wide-eyed gangly teenage boy wearing a _Fiori Floral_ tee shirt. He didn't even appear old enough to work, let alone drive a floral van.

His back arched as he carried the weight of the heavy tangerine-glazed pot. As if following instructions, he walked the expanse of her office and placed the plant on the edge of her desk so that the flowing stems and leaves cascaded over the sides and pooled on the Persian rug.

With shaking hands, Isabella reached into her purse and handed the boy a ten-dollar bill.

She shut the door behind him and walked back to her desk, where she sat down. The three pronged and lobed leaves stared back.

What. The. Fuck?

English Ivy. Someone sent her an English Ivy plant.

Someone had figured it out. Someone knew that Isabella was Poison Ivy. Bella's heart sped with hope. Perhaps Bruce had found her.

It was a beautiful plant.

She spotted a white envelope nestled in the variegated leaves. Her stomach tightened with anticipation.

Isabella opened the envelope and took out the small white card. As she read the note her stomach continued to tighten, this time with disgust.

_I paid a hundred fifty thousand,_

_Yet you walked out the door._

_I watched you walk away,_

_You owe me more._

_Soon, Bruce_

She pulled out her Blackberry and sent Alice a series of texts. Her fingers were flying across the keypad.

_**Isabella: I'm out. Bruce is a fucking pig.**_

_**Isabella: Feel free 2 follw ur heart tho.**_

_**Isabella: Really. Go get ur guy.**_

**Alice: WHAT u mean ur out?**

_**Isabella: 2 muchh 2 say rt now but trst me. Batman is no hero.**_

**Alice: Tell mee what happened!**

_**Isabella: Bruce the fucker sent me an ivy plant**_

_**Isabella: Aand calld me a WHORE!!!**_

**Alice: No wy. I'll fucking tear off his balls myself.**

_**Isabella: My fight. You get your man. **_

**Alice: ??**

_**Isabella: Lvng early 2 go 2 Bmore. Back Thrsdy**_

**Alice: dinner?**

_**Isabella: No. Mtg with Agent.**_

**Alice: Maybe his hotness will cheer u up.**

_**Isabella: I am swearing to a life of celibacy**_

**Alice: U should try meaninglss sex. It's fuckhot.**

**Alice: I really am sorry about the SOB. Hard 2 believe.**

_**Isabella: I'm not surprised. All men are pigs.**_

_**Isabella: At least I got a decent plant out of it : )**_

_**Isabella: ima keep it so it reminds me 2 stay away from everything with a dick.**_

**Alice: LOL. Prick.**

**Alice: RU sure it was from him? **

_**Isabella: Yes. It's ok. Good to find out early. G2G.**_

**Alice: : ) safe trip**

Isabella opened the document on which she'd been working, pressed print and waited as ten copies exited the printer. She placed the papers in her black leather Prada briefcase.

Out of courtesy, she emailed Tyler informing him she would take the red-eye and would file the Orioles case in person the next morning.

She buzzed Lauren and spoke in a tone that left no room for discussion.

"Change of plans. I'll be leaving for Baltimore tonight and will return to Seattle late Thursday afternoon. Call travel and change my ticket and have them forward the itinerary to my Blackberry. Arrange for the car service to pick me up at my loft in an hour.

"Before you leave for the day, email Cullen and tell him I will meet him Thursday at seven.

"Oh, and Lauren, one more thing, make sure you water my plant while I'm gone."

**xxxXxxx**

**End Notes:**

**Are you familiar with the names** **Austin Marks or Geoffrey Campbell? Or did I just make them up? Nope, they are all SM!**

**Follow me on twitter hockeymomtweets because every day I tweet about an unknown but very real character from Stephenie Meyer's saga.**

**xXx**

**Okay, okay. Time for the picture tease. Want to see RPattz wearing that luscious Batman tee as he lies down, his body enveloped in a luscious lambs wool rug? Are you aching to run your fingers across the strip of bare skin that cries out between faded jeans and his tee? I thought so.**

**Hit that green "review" button, say a few words – or even a : )- and I'll get that photo right out to you.**

**BTW, if I accidentally missed you and you'd like a photo from a chapter before, just say so in your review… : )**

_**Note: You must have enabled PM's on your account in order for me to reply. I missed a couple of you because of this. Sorry….**_

**xXx**

**A million thanks to the thousands of people worldwide that have read, reviewed, fav'd and alerted **_**The Agent and the Esquire**_**.**

**I am beyond words but would like to send heartfelt thanks to Ironic Twist, author of "The Harder They Fall", Heather Dawn, author of "3,2,1" and funkydiva1978, author of "The Delicate Dance of Marriage" for believing in this story and recommending it to their readers. I still haven't come down from the high and I hope I never land.**

**I hope I haven't missed anyone. Please, if you "found" A&E on another author's story, please, please PM so I can say thanks to those authors.**

**And, seriously, if you haven't checked out the following stories, stop everything and go read. You'll be glad you did.**

**fanfiction(dot)net/s/5257177/1/The_Harder_they_Fall**

**fanfiction****(dot)net/s/5132809/1/3_2_1**

**fanfiction****(dot)net/s/5116966/1/**

**xXx**

**Can you see me blush?**

**Thanks to KristALchelle for featuring Batman and Ivy's love scene from Chapter 3 in the Tantalizing Tuesday Femme's page:**

**www (dot)lesfemmesdetwilight(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

**I also want to say thanks to my ff friends who have leant an ear and offered a word or two or more as I am writing this story. **

**xXx**

_**Special thanks to my friend, MK, for authenticating the legalese within the story.**_

**A&E is dedicated to my RL friends and neighbors**

**LD, MR, MK**


	5. Spit Out Or Swallow

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners. **_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**Thank you to my beta and mentor, Ironic Twist.**_

**xxxxXxxxx**

**Chapter 5 – Spit Out Or Swallow**

Tuesday, March 29, 2010

Isabella was flying high in the sky, and when she landed at BWI Airport, she planned to kill a few birds with one stone.

The birds, of course, were the Baltimore Orioles, and if she didn't kill them, then she'd at least clip their wings.

Her first-class seats provided comfort, but no sleep. She didn't stop to breathe when she touched down Tuesday morning. Because of her platinum status, The Renaissance Baltimore Harborplace Hotel arranged for her to check in early. She grabbed a quick shower and caught a cab to the U.S. District Court in Baltimore.

Isabella walked in as if she'd been there a thousand times before. She effortlessly filed the case, which she affectionately referred to as _the Mariners versus the O's and the S.O.B._

In the quick taxi ride back to her hotel, she tapped out an email on her trusty Blackberry. Isabella told the O's lead attorney, Caius Ricci, that she was in town and required a meeting with him the next day. He, of course, was welcome to bring his legal team along. The meeting, she offered, would be "at a time and place of your choosing."

Isabella was courteous like that.

She'd give them a day to dread the inevitable, and then she'd swoop down like a bird of prey and eat them for breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever. But at least it would be a time of their choosing.

Entering her hotel suite, Isabella put the "do not disturb" sign on the door and stripped down to her bare essentials. She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her, because she knew she'd be working all night long at a little sports pub called Pickles. The bar sat right next to Camden Yards, which is the home field and headquarters of the Baltimore Orioles Major League Baseball Team. All night, Isabella would work the crowd at Pickles, researching her case.

The term "research," however, didn't do it justice. In reality, it was reconnaissance. Isabella knew how to pull out all the stops to pull off miracles. She combined street smarts with savvy and that, along with sheer determination, is what separated Isabella from everybody else.

Tuesday evening, while the O's attorneys were holed up at headquarters, Isabella invested her time at Pickles Pub.

Incognito, Isabella talked to sports writers and Orioles staffers who didn't get a ticket on the "spring training team plane" to Sarasota. The pre-season baseball game between the O's and the Tigers was playing on Pickles plasma and everybody who was anybody was there to watch.

Isabella knew that the little people knew a lot.

The assistant trainers, legal assistants, file clerks, human resource managers, sports writers and everybody else in between appeared to be in the know. They talked about the players, the draftees, the team, the training, the trades, and all the deals that still needed to be done.

They chatted up Isabella and bought her Bacardi and Cokes while she batted her eyelashes at them. She sipped down drinks while they spilled their guts.

They thought she was just another fan, a hanger-on…possible piece of ass. They were all too eager to provide her lip service and had high hopes that hers would embrace theirs.

They had no clue that the possible piece of ass surreptitiously siphoned confidential information out of their clueless minds. Their loose lips flapped on and were most definitely getting no where near hers.

Because everyone knows what they say about loose lips. Loose lips sink ships, and the _SS Orioles _was going down, just like the O's in their 9-10 loss to the Tigers that very night.

**xXx**

James parked his car illegally right in front of The Seattle Times office. He fished out a piece of paper from his briefcase and wrote "On Delivery" with the same Sharpie he'd used just a few nights prior at TPC. He placed the sign on the dash and he sprinted through the front doors so he could dodge the rain.

Although it was short notice, Angela Weber, a photographer for the Times, agreed to meet with James on this dreary spring morning. He had arranged the meeting under the auspices of looking over some photos that Angela had taken of one of his clients. Angela knew that James was a sports agent, and although she couldn't pinpoint it, something just didn't seem right about him.

Brushing off her feelings, Angela invited James to her office. She powered on her laptop, and entered her user name and password, revealing the many icons on her computer screen.

James knew he had to act quickly, so he leaned over her desk and knocked her warm coffee down the front of her blouse.

He uttered empty apologies and promises to pay for the dry cleaning, and then said perhaps someone in marketing had a Times t-shirt or something she change into. He was happy to wait.

With a shy smile and kind words telling James not to worry about the spill, that it could have happened to anyone, Angela excused herself.

When he was sure she was out of sight, he inserted his flash drive into her laptop and opened up the icon that said, "my pictures." It only took a few seconds to find the date he was looking for, and he copied all of the photographs taken on Saturday, March 27, 2010, the night of the Maskorade ball. The Times was granted a press pass for the event and Angela took hundreds of wonderful photographs.

James quickly withdrew his flash drive, closed out the program and sat up straight in Angela's standard-issue office chair. She apologized--actually apologized--for the delay and made a copy of the photos that James had requested. He shook her hand and gave another empty offer to pay for her dry cleaning before he walked out the door.

Running to his car this time, because the rain was pouring torrents, he got in, turned the engine on and drove the ten blocks downtown to FedEx/Kinkos.

**xXx**

Alice dreamed of Pen every night and daydreamed of him all day long every day since the Maskorade Ball. She didn't have to call him Penguin though. Alice knew that the man who held her destiny in his capable hands was named Jasper Whitlock.

She knew this because Saturday night after he'd won her in the "Dinner and Dance Auction," Jasper first took her for a spin around the dance floor, and then he invited her to join him and his friends at the VIP table. Cat and Bird shared a drink, as in the same drink. He sheepishly offered her a sip of his and she accepted.

Alice heard it when his friends called him either by his first name "Jasper" or his last name, "Whitlock." She knew his name, but he most definitely did not know hers. She'd told him her name was Selina Kyle, as in the character from the Batman movie; the character that Michele Pfieffer played.

He believed her.

When Alice tried to sneak a sip of Absinthe, Jasper moved their date to the office--his office.

Alice couldn't help noticing the papers that were strewn across his desk emblazoned with his name: "Jasper Whitlock, Owner, The Players Club." Some of the papers referred to him as the "managing partner," but no matter.

They talked for hours. He told her that he was from Texas and she told him she loved his southern accent. She told him she was born and raised in Seattle and he told her she had a voice like an angel.

He told her he had his masters in business and she told him she was a designer. He told her he liked walking along the Seattle shoreline in a light rain. She told him she loved dancing in the rain. He spun her around his small office. He held her tightly in his warm, strong arms and told her he never wanted to let her go.

When the time came to say goodbye, Alice left her little black felt Catwoman ears behind just for him. Other than her heart, she couldn't give him anything else of hers, like her phone number or address or real name or the place she worked or her design company name because of the pinkie promise and all, but she had to give him something.

When she walked out his door, he blocked her exit and begged her to stay. He told her he loved her. He's held _her_ heart ever since.

He was Jasper Whitlock and she was going to marry him someday. She loved him and he loved her.

Alice loves Jasper

and

Jasper loves Alice

They were simply meant to be.

So with a fervor that nothing but love could fuel and with Bella's go-ahead to "go get your man", Alice plotted all day long on how she was going to do just that. She knew she could pick up the phone and simply call him at The Players Club. But, Alice didn't want the first time she told Jasper she loved him to be over the phone. Alice wanted to see his face. She wanted to tell Jasper she loved him, wrap her arms around him, and never let go. She couldn't do that on the phone.

She had to see him in person. Ali knew that TPC was a "members only" club, but she also knew that the bouncers admitted women all night long.

Alice had asked, no begged, for Rosalie to go with her. But Rose being Rose was still in the "hot and heavy" phase of her relationship with Mystery Man and she already had plans…a barbeque or something like that.

_Some barbeque_. _It was supposed to rain all night long._

Alice wasn't going to let a little thing like rain stand in her way, though. It was Seattle, after all, and it rained all the time. The only problem was that Alice knew that the queue to line up for TPC was outside, in the cold. And, no matter how long you waited, there was no guarantee that you were going to get through that door.

But it was a risk Alice was willing to take. Jasper liked walking in the rain, so the least she could do was wait in the rain for him.

She finished up at the Theatre at six, asked Marcus to freshen her hair and makeup, and changed into a Wonderland original.

As always, Alice looked picture perfect as she awaited the right time to chase destiny.

When 8:30 arrived, Alice caught a cab and was one of the first in line at TPC. She watched as the bouncer waved women through who'd cut in line; their names engraved on some magical list.

She glanced at her watch every five minutes hoping to speed up time. She stood in the dead center underneath her umbrella, shivering, while a spring storm poured buckets around her.

The rain continued its deluge, just as a deluge of women rolled right past her and right through the entrance of TPC. They were the Rat City Roller Girls and Alice could have sworn that one of them was a woman from work. But she rolled by so quickly, that Alice didn't get a good look.

Alice tried time and time again to convince Bouncer that she not only knew Jasper Whitlock, but that he loved her and she loved him. Alice told Bouncer that she was going to marry him someday. She just knew it, so couldn't he at least go inside and ask? Bouncer told Alice that he had heard those exact same words before, and if Mr. Whitlock intended for her to gain admittance into the Club, then her name would be on the list. After checking her ID, Bouncer made an exaggerated attempt to look for an "Alice Brandon" on the soggy piece of paper. To make his point, Bouncer poked his fingers on the paper. He poked right through the wet page, and said, "Nope, not here. Now get back in line."

Alice returned dutifully to her spot, while Bouncer peered through the hole in the paper. He saw that he had poked right through someone's last name and wondered what he should do if that person tried to gain entrance…. He thought of the solution, "I'll just let everyone in with the first name 'Selina'."

The rain never let up. Alice braved the weather until 2:00, when the players with women on their arms walked out the doors and paired off into waiting sedans. The Roller Girls stuck together and they collectively wheeled on by.

And the one roller girl who wore the "Throttle Rockets" jersey--the one who pretended not to notice Alice whether she was rolling in or out? Well, yeah, that was definitely Tanya - the same Tanya Denali who worked in advertising for the 5th Avenue Theatre.

What Alice didn't know was that James sat in his car with the heater on, as he watched her through fogged windows.

**xXx**

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

When her alarm went off at 7:00, Isabella felt like she needed toothpicks to hold her eyelids open. She was jet lagged, hung over, and ready for battle.

As she stood in the shower, with the scorching jets pounding her body, she thought of the grand slam she'd pulled off the night before at that little sports bar next door to Camden Yards. How ironic it was that their own employees would be their very downfall. She'd even recorded the names and the accompanying facts into her micro recorder.

But she didn't record their voices, of course, because that would be illegal.

She dug up more dirt on the Orioles than she'd ever imagined. She had spoken to _Mister_ Geoffrey Campbell's "right hand man" himself, and he admitted to the very allegations in the lawsuit. He spoke of the "really cool training video that you just wouldn't believe" and that their "trainers were just adding some of their own stuff, it was incredible. You should see it."

Right Hand Man actually invited her to come and take a look. If it weren't for the fifty other men she still needed to talk to, she would have taken him up on his offer.

Puffing his chest out like a blowfish, he spoke proudly of the "seven players that we stole right from underneath the noses of those stinkin' Mariners."

Only Mr. Hand said it in his _Baltimoron_ accent.

The tourism industry called Baltimore "Charm City." Isabella felt like writing them a letter of endorsement, because the charming men at Pickles gave her everything she asked for…and more.

She smiled at the thought of what their faces would look like when she dropped the bomb on them later that day. She knew the lawsuit stated 100 million dollars. That was a highball number going in and she knew it, but you had to start somewhere.

However, based on the facts that the _know-it-alls_ shared over drinks at Pickles, Isabella wasn't simply going to ask for money. Oh, she'd demand money all right, lots of it. But she'd also ask for something a bit more tangible. She'd demand the return of the stolen goods themselves, and she wasn't talking videos.

The call from Mr. Ricci came into her mobile at 8:40am. They'd like to "meet in an hour" and of course "regretted the short notice but it couldn't be helped."

_Uh huh. She would give them a little lesson in regret._

She had just barely pushed the "end" button when someone knocked on Isabella's door. She asked who it was as she looked through the peephole.

"Business Center, ma'am. I've got a delivery for a, uh, Miss I. Swan, Esquire. Is that you, ma'am?" The man in the maroon suit asked through the door.

She said he had the right suite, asked him to hold one moment, opened the door and exchanged the FedEx envelope for a five dollar bill.

Isabella looked at the return address, and although it read Seattle, she couldn't make out the address.

"Damn rain smudged it," she thought.

She figured it was probably from Lauren, perhaps some documents for the case. She grasped the cardboard tab and pulled quickly across the envelope. She fished her tiny hand inside and pulled out a nondescript white envelope with her name scrawled with an ink pen that was obviously nearly dried up.

The person who sent this to her had to trace over her name in order for all the letters to show.

Isabella feared that this wasn't from Lauren after all.

Her teeth clenched as she opened up the envelope and pulled out the 8 x 10 color photographs of her from the Ball.

The photos were all different, some zoomed in, focusing on particular body parts, like her breasts, and others were taken from a distance and included Alice in them.

She read the typed card that was enclosed:

_Ivy,_

_If I were with you at the Bay,_

_I'd give those scarlet lips a lick._

_Since you are so very far away,_

_I offer you these pics._

_You must thank your lovely assistant for _

_providing your Baltimore contact information._

_Perhaps next time we can meet in person._

_Soon,_

_Bruce_

He sent pictures to her hotel room? This was teetering on the edge of stalking. The motherfucker was diabolical. She'd have to track him down when she got back and teach him some fucking manners.

But right now Isabella had a job to do and that was the only thing on her mind.

She quickly finished dressing and placed the photos in her briefcase. She caught the elevator just as the doors were closing, and she squeezed herself in with at least nine convention attendees.

They were loud and each of them wore the same ridiculous crew-shirt with an embroidered logo. "Operation: Possible!"

_Give me a break. Fucking pharmaceutical companies._

Her meeting with the Orioles legal team, Caius Ricci and his merry men, went better than expected. She was sure they'd each have to make side trips to Macy's to replace their pants.

She was certain all five of them peed theirs when hearing the information she'd shared.

She knew it must be true because when she walked out the door not a single one of them rose to shake her hand.

She smirked while each of them stared at her with mouths agape. "Think it over and call me in the morning, gentlemen. Don't be too late. My plane leaves at noon."

Isabella walked out of the Camden Yards business office and smelled the sunshine. She breathed in a long, salty breath. It was just after noon and the sun was high overhead, its warm rays beaming down on her face.

She took off her jacket and carried it along with her briefcase. It took only a moment for her to hail a taxi. She people-watched as the taxi drove along West Pratt Street.

To her right, she saw Harbor Place, with its brick walkway, restaurants and shops. "Stop here, please," she told the cabbie.

She paid the cab fare and stepped out into the warm spring air. Isabella's stomach growled and she figured this was as good a place as any to try a Baltimore crab cake. She walked along the brick pathway and found the perfect restaurant. Phillips offered open-air dining and Isabella took the opportunity to catch some rays, while sampling some of Baltimore's finest food.

She savored every morsel of the chunkiest, most delectable backfin crab cake known to man. She swallowed her Pellegrino and then choked back a laugh when the thought of seafood reminded her of sharks which reminded her of the emasculated men in the boardroom that had served as her appetizer.

So far, she was finding Baltimore exceptionally tasty.

With an entire day left to kill, Isabella sent some emails and tapped out some text messages, including one to Tyler. She told him that she thought things were going well and she hoped for a resolution the next morning.

He texted her back questioning her decision to "settle so early in the game."

_What a pansy-ass._

She returned his text saying she was "optimistic" they'd come in "well over the $35 million figure the Mariner's legal team had hoped for."

_Fucker wouldn't know a poker face if it leaned over and bit his balls._

With her texts and emails behind her, and with the Sun god Apollo calling her name, Isabella enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the path. She walked close to the edge of the bay wall and watched the sailboats and yachts as they traversed the choppy bay.

She slowly made her way toward her hotel, but took a break to lean against the stone wall. She closed her eyes and arched her neck so the sun could kiss her porcelain skin.

She thought she could use a little color and with all the fuckery surrounding Bruce, and thoughts of tomorrow evening's meeting with The Agent creeping into her consciousness every chance it could get, this was just what the doctor had ordered.

She felt someone watching her. It was a strange feeling--almost palpable, really. She could practically feel his breath on her. Her eyes remained closed, but she was certain his were focused squarely on her.

She wondered why she couldn't just be left alone in peace already. Isabella let a few more minutes pass, hoping the lunatic to her left would leave already.

He didn't. And she'd had enough.

She tilted her head down from its sunshine-up position. She snapped her head to the left, set her eyes in a hard glare, and readied herself to come up with a scathing remark.

But she was speechless.

They looked into each others eyes and they spoke at the same time.

"Bella?"

"Austin?"

And again, they continued their conversations speaking overtop of one another.

"Oh my God, it is you."

They shared an awkward embrace and each asked the other what in the world they were doing at the Inner Harbor. They took turns talking this time.

He asked her to go first, since she was the lady and all.

She told him she was in Baltimore "on business" and tried to be vague. She told him she would be flying out in the morning.

He sheepishly told her he'd read the article in _Sports Illustrated_ and had g_oogled_ her just last week. That's how he had recognized her from so far away. He just knew it was her.

He had actually made a copy of one of the pictures he found online It was of her and a few of her colleagues at the benefit for the baseball players association.

He told Bella that he had emailed a copy of the article and photo to his parents. He told her she hadn't changed a bit.

_Fuck. My. Life. He's still a mamma's boy and he thinks I look like trailer trash. _

She snickered at the absurdity.

He asked her what was so funny and she said it must be the pollen in her throat.

He said it again, "You do, Bella. You are so beautiful. You look exactly the same as that...uh…last time I saw you."

And then it got a little awkward because they both obviously remembered the time they last saw each other.

Isabella cleared her throat. Again.

"So you play for the Ravens? I read about you…in Sports Illustrated." She chuckled at the irony.

She continued, "Good for you, Austin. I'm so glad you did it! I mean, here you are a professional football player for the Baltimore Ravens. All your dreams came true." Bella offered in a tone so sincere that she knew she really meant it.

She knew she'd really forgiven him all those years ago for not fighting for her.

Austin took her left hand in his right one and said, "Not every dream, Bella. Not all of my dreams have come true."

And she knew exactly what he meant because she could see it in his eyes. But she wasn't _that girl_ anymore. She wasn't in a place where she would wax nostalgic, go back in time and pick up where they left off.

And she didn't want to.

No, she was Isabella Fucking Swan and she was quite satisfied with her lot in life. She had plenty to be thankful for including the guy standing right next to her.

He was her catalyst. As odd as it seemed, it was in no small part because of him and his mother and, well, Renee that she was where she was today. But, honestly, she had everything in the world to thank this man for.

Without even thinking about it, she dropped her jacket and briefcase and hugged him with all of her might. She didn't want her embrace to be construed as something that it wasn't, so she broke the hug and patted him on his right shoulder.

It was one of those "buddy to buddy" pats.

She began her goodbye speech, "It really was great seeing you, Austin. But, I've got a meeting tomorrow night I've got to pre-"

He cut her off in mid-sentence. "Won't you at least come to dinner with me? We could catch up…make up for lost time?"

And then she noticed it, a tattoo, on his left shoulder.

And he knew she knew.

Bella admired the artwork. It truly was magnificent. It looked as if it was a picture and not ink on a grown man's skin.

A beautiful, alabaster swan, swimming atop calm turquoise waters.

The swan's neck faced to the left, its head down, its eyes sad. The swan's body and wings faced to the right.

Bella could tell that the artist created this beautiful swan in the silhouette of a lowercase "b", except the tall part arched to the left, forming the swan's neck and head.

b for Bella. Bella Swan.

He brought her tightly to his chest this time and kissed her on her forehead. "Please, Bella, please won't you come with me? Just for tonight. One night. It's all I'm asking for." He pleaded with her.

It was all she could do to maintain her composure. She couldn't look in his eyes because she knew if she did she'd see him silently sobbing.

He was so broken, so alone.

She hugged him and brought him in even closer. She breathed into his chest and didn't say a word. Bella wasn't going to break the embrace the same way he had broken her heart.

Minutes passed and they remained tucked into one another, standing by the brick bay wall, the choppy waves swooshing soft rhythms behind them.

Seagulls squawked overhead.

People passed by.

And Austin and Bella maintained their embrace.

Finally, he knew it was over. Austin gently removed his arms from hers and he backed up just a bit to get a better view.

"It's too late for one more night, isn't it, Bella?" he choked out.

She fought back a sob that she knew would escape at any minute.

"I'll always love you. I am so, so sorry for what my par-" he stopped, "What _I_ did to you. I was just a kid, Bella. Just a kid. Can you ever forgive me?"

Bella didn't care a bit that tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt horrible for this man standing broken before her.

"It's all right, Austin. Everything is going to be all right. I forgave you a long time ago." She leaned her head into his chest and gave him a gentle kiss right above his heart.

She spoke to him softly. "I am the woman I am because of my experiences in life."

She smiled at him then continued, "You…me…we shared our first love. And we'll always have that."

She pleaded with him this time, "But if you're going to have any real hope of ever finding your one true love, then, you've got to let it go. Embrace it and let it go at the same time."

He nodded because he knew it was true.

And for the first time in a long time his heart was lighter.

And so was hers.

"Walk you to your hotel at least?" He smiled. And he really meant it. He was ready to let her go.

"Of course, Austin." She held out her right hand toward his left one and cocked her eyebrow at him, "For old time's sake?"

"For old time's sake," he said back to her as he took her tiny, soft hand into his large, rough one.

And just like old times, they held on lightly to each other while their arms swung in time with their footsteps.

They arrived at her hotel and he gave her one last hug.

"The tattoo really is beautiful, Austin. Thank you." Bella smiled at him.

"You're welcome, Bella. Hell, maybe it's time I get a new one. Hank told me he'd ink a raven on my other shoulder! A swan and a raven…." He laughed.

Isabella joined his laughter and not-so-innocently asked, "Is the studio in Baltimore, then? Not Phoenix?"

"Well, it's in Elkridge actually, about a half hour from here. I guess I really should be letting you get back to whatever you need to be getting back to," he quipped.

They hugged one last time and wished each other all the very best. He really was all right. They both were.

Isabella practically ran into the hotel and pushed the elevator button repeatedly, willing it to appear faster.

She arrived at her room and had already fished out the keycard from her purse. She inserted it into the slot in the door.

Isabella swung the heavy wooden door open, ran across the expanse of her suite and headed straight for the bedroom. She tossed her keycard, her blazer and her briefcase onto the bed and opened up the drawer of the nightstand.

She pulled out the phonebook, opened up the yellow pages and flipped to the section marked, "Tattoos."

**xXx**

April 1, 2010

The hotel clock radio blared at its highest decibel level. The song, _Only A Fool_ by The Black Crowes, blared through the speakers.

_Ah! Loud, too loud! Too early!_

Isabella, still groggy from last night's escapades, palmed the night stand in the darkness of the black-out curtains searching for the snooze button. The glowing red numbers read 7:01 and Isabella wondered why it seemed so much harder to get up today than it did yesterday.

She ached all over and she sat up in bed hoping a nice stretch would help. It didn't. Her head started spinning. And her stomach started churning.

And then she remembered. She remembered the meeting with Hank at Body FX Tattoo Studio in Elkridge. She remembered showing him the zoomed-in photo of her chest that Bruce had sent her.

_Yeah the premise was twisted, but that picture sure came in handy._

The picture was so clear that Hank saw every single detail of that lone ivy leaf. The leaf that lay wilted and dying, its edges curling in as it cried to have its thirst quenched.

She'd thought about what that leaf represented and remembered thinking about asking Hank to perhaps breathe just a teensie little bit of life into it. Then she decided she didn't need to be so melodramatic.

The only problem was that Hank was booked solid for the rest of the day. The only spot he had free was at an "inked" promo at Daniel's Biker Bar at 9:00. The good news was that since it was a special promotion and Isabella would be the only woman getting inked, the art was on the house.

The owner of FX told her she'd be a huge draw once word got out. She remembered approving Hank's drawing of her ivy leaf on the tattoo transfer paper.

The most fun she had all night was when she hitched a ride on Hank's Harley and held onto his back as he drove her the short distance up the street to Daniel's.

She distinctly remembered the salt and lime from her first three tequila shots. She figured she polished off the rest of the Jose Quervo _after the tattoo_ because somehow it was drunk to ink an illegal…or vice versa…what?

She was really having a difficult time thinking. Her head was pounding…the damn song would not shut off already!

"_Only a fool would let you go,_

_Only a fool and I should know,_

_I need you so baby please don't go…"_

Bang. Bang. Bang. Her head was pounding and the room spun faster.

She sat with one arm plastered on the headboard and her foot planted on the floor.

Ah. The room stopped spinning at least. Isabella remembered seeing a chrome and vinyl fully restored vintage barbers chair that Daniel himself had displayed right smack dab in the middle of the Biker Bar.

Isabella thought about how she tried to find her Zen place, the one that Renee talked to her about ages ago. Try as she might, Isabella's Zen was more freaked out than a cat at the Westminster.

There was absolutely no way that Isabella was going to calm down. She remembered reclining on the slick red vinyl and feeling the needle as it scraped and pierced her skin thousands of times. Thousands of bee stings on her breast for crying out loud.

She begged Hank to "hold on, just hold it" every five seconds.

She wasn't certain, but she was pretty sure that two luscious, hunky bikers stood dutifully next to her and held her hands throughout the rest of the process.

And then things started to get a little fuzzy. After the forty-seven thousandth bee stung her, Hank took a snapshot for his portfolio.

_Mind if I take a picture of your boob?_ Well, he hadn't really said it like that, but the action was the same.

Isabella remembers that Hank bought her a tequilla shot to congratulate her on her first tatt. She licked the salt then bit the lime and downed the shot.

And because the tattoo was free, Isabella figured she could afford to be generous.

"A round on me!" she called out as she climbed on the bar top.

For the rest of the night she didn't have to buy another drink, and she was paying dearly for it right then.

With her stomach freshly purged, she hobbled to the honor bar and opened the door. She pulled out a bottle of V8, a Desani water, a Starbucks Double Shot and a packet of Tylenol.

Ahh, the perfect elixir for a hangover. Water, caffeine, Tylenol, and tomato juice.

She heard the familiar chirp of her phone and then exchanged texts with Caius Ricci.

**Ricci: 9:00 Same place as yesterday.**

**Isabella: See you there.**

OK, so she had almost two hours to sober up….

She said a silent prayer that she wouldn't throw up on any of them, especially seeing as though they all wet their pants the day before.

She thought about the meeting that was to take place that very evening with The Agent. She wondered why he suddenly had such a change of heart and was not only willing to work with her, but had actually requested this meeting.

This _dinner_ meeting.

She thought if Edward Cullen weren't such an arrogant, egotistical, self-centered son-of-a-bitch, he might actually be good looking.

Ah, who the hell was she kidding? He was drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Isabella remembered that the meeting with Pretty Boy was about a trade negotiation. She wondered which of The Agent's players was being traded to the Mariners, and she wondered why he specifically requested that she handle the deal.

No matter. She was going to enjoy her dinner and she'd make sure to order something really expensive to make him pay for all those times he insulted her intelligence by refusing to work with her.

She'd enjoy the eye candy from across the table and she'd lull him into a false sense of confidence. Isabella always came out on top. And just like those rats in Baltimore, she'd chew him up and spit him out.

Well, maybe not the spitting out part, because Edward Cullen was certainly yummy enough to swallow whole.

**xxxxXxxxx**

**End Notes: **

**Who is being traded to the Mariners?**

**As always, please hit that green "submit" button and tell me what you think of the story.. **

**I'll send a semi-spoiler and a pic tease to everyone that leaves a : ) or more. .**

**Pic tease for this chapter:**

**Well, let me phrase it with a question.**

"**Where is Rob's hand?"**

**(Trust me. There are simply no words for this one.)**

**Follow me on twitter: hockeymomtweets and I'll follow you right back.**

**By the way, all of the place names that I mention in this fic are real. And some of them I've actually been to (wink).**

**All character names (at least first names) are borrowed from SM. **

_**.**_

**The Agent and the Esquire is dedicated to my RL friends and neighbors **

**LD, MR and MK**

**Special thanks to MK for looking over my legalese to make sure I'm keeping this real.**

**And to K, who I adopted as my mentor and beta, I appreciate you.**

**Thanks.**


	6. Wheels and Deals

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners. **_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**Thank you to my beta and mentor, Ironic Twist.**_

**xxxXxxx**

**Chapter 6 – Wheels and Deals**

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Isabella's mini-bar hangover helper did little to alleviate her discomfort. While her headache pierced her skull, she showered, packed and hailed a cab to Camden Yards to meet with Caius and his team. Isabella decided she'd refer to all of them as the "Charmers" since Baltimore was the "Charm City."

As the cab drove the few blocks to the ballpark, Isabella spotted a 7-11 convenience store and asked the cabbie to pull over. She bought a packet of Goody's and chased the headache powder down with twenty-two ounces of Mountain Dew.

This was a concoction that had proven its worth time and time again. By the time she walked through the Orioles boardroom door at 9:00, Isabella was at her peak and poised for battle.

Caius opened the meeting by acknowledging that he and his team had read her transcription of what had "allegedly transpired at Pickles Pub." He reminded Isabella that from what he could tell, those individuals who admitted to alleged illegal behavior were under the influence of alcohol at the time and therefore weren't responsible for what they may or may not have said.

_Blah, fucking blah._

Isabella couldn't believe her ears. The Charmers were actually trying to _play her_ and they were denying everything that their employees had said. She was in no mood, and the smug fuckers would pay for this.

First of all, her head still hurt. Her tattoo was aching. Plus, she was on a tight schedule to catch her flight out of BWI Airport, and there was no way in hell she was jeopardizing her dinner meeting with The Agent for their bullshit.

_And on April fucking Fools Day? Not happening._

"That's perfectly fine, gentlemen. You've challenged my resolve and trust me, I will win. You can consider the terms of the deal I left you yesterday off the table. As you know, the Mariners were prepared to walk away with $50 million, the return of five of the players you acquired through illegal means, and no admission of guilt on the part of the Orioles.

"The new deal--should you choose to accept it–-is $75 million, the return of all _seven _players, and because I'm a considerate person, the Orioles still won't admit guilt.

"Should you choose to walk away, I am prepared to take this to court. I am prepared to camp here in your charming city for as long as it takes to see this through. I will talk to every reporter from every television and radio station that requests an interview. And, I won't be afraid to mention your charming names.

"You read the initial lawsuit that I filed on Tuesday. Because I am a fair-minded person, I disclosed to you what I learned from your own people Tuesday night. When I amend my Complaint tomorrow morning, the rest of the world will similarly have the benefit of that disclosure through the beauty of public records and online accessibility. Moreover, I'm sure the judge himself will find it interesting that the Orioles legal team is not only aware of, but condones the continued illegal behavior of their employees, including the actions of Mr. Geoffrey Campbell. Indeed, my amended Complaint may add the Board of Directors as named co-defendants. Now that would be embarrassing for you.

"Remember, the luxury of walking away guilt-free ends with the deal on the table now.

"The judge, of course, will be all ears at our initial scheduling conference when he learns that the Mariners tried in vain to settle this case, and quite fairly I might add. I am certain the judge will deem punitive damages quite appropriate due to the Orioles legal team's knowledge and ratification of your employees' admitted actions, of which you sit here and excuse due to the fact that such admissions were made when they 'were drunk.'

"Like the _drunk defense_ will fucking fly, but good luck with that.

"So, Gentlemen, and I say that term loosely, you've got fifteen minutes. The magical number is $75 million, and the clock starts now.

"If you refuse this offer, I'll take the case to trial. You'll lose in the most public of fashions and the reputation of your storied franchise will never be the same.

"By the time the judge gets through with your sorry asses, he'll be so pissed off that you clogged up his docket with your worthless defense, that you will pay not only our initial $100 million suit, but he'll grant additional damages and lawyers fees.

"And, Gentlemen, I don't come cheap."

**xXx**

With the largest smile that Isabella has ever worn, well almost, she hailed a cab to BWI, while exchanging texts with Alice:

**Isabella: Just got in my cab. RU awake?**

**Alice: Awaake now.**

**Isabella: Sorry bout that. Been crzy in Bmore. Won the case! Have a surprise 2 show u.**

**Alice: What?!**

**Isabella: Nope. U have to wait. How did TPC go 2sday?**

**Alice: Didn't get in. Bouncer was FUGLY.**

**Isabella: Sry 4U. What's nxt?**

**Alice: Gonna call there. Dunno 2day or 2morrow. **

**Isabella: I wish I cld help. Bruce pulled more shit. Ima catch that fucker and teach him some manners!**

**Alice: Once I find Penguin I will help u put his nuts in a vice**

**Isabella: Maybe if u give me a name??**

**Alice: When I see Pen I will get name 4U!**

**Isabella: R we on for 2nite? Help me get ready for Agent?**

**Alice: YES!! Be at yur loft at 5. I'll let myself in if ur not home yet!**

**Isabella: Whatz the suit look like?**

**Alice: U'll hv 2 be surprised! Fuckhot, tho! **

She was interrupted by a text from Tyler. Isabella knew it was 6:30 on the west coast and couldn't remember the last time he got his fat ass up that early.

**Tyler: Tried to call you, but your phone went directly to voicemail.**

**Isabella to Alice: Got 2 go. Tyler pstering me**

**Alice: CU 2night! Safe flight.**

**Tyler: Your meeting should be over by now. How did it go? Call me.**

**Tyler: I read your itinerary. Your flight hasn't taken off yet. Call me when you get this.**

_If I ignore him, maybe he'll just go away. And, who texts with the correct punctuation and spelling, anyway?_

Fifteen minutes later:

**Tyler: Perhaps you don't have service. Call me when you get this.**

Another ten minutes passed.

**Tyler: I just got off the phone from Caius Ricci. They will wire the $75 million by close of business tomorrow. Congratulations, Isabella.**

**Tyler: We must celebrate. It will be my treat.**

_In his fucking dreams, and great grammar, Webster._

Isabella ignored Tyler's pestering texts and shopped the boutiques at BWI until her flight to Seattle boarded. She'd call him once she landed in Seattle, but with her headache gone, her only concern was putting a hurting on Bruce, she just didn't want to deal with Tyler's drool.

When her flight took off, she closed her eyes and smiled. The day had only just begun, and the prospect of her dinner meeting with The Agent lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

**xXx**

The Bose clock radio blared throughout Edward's Mandarin Miami Hotel suite. It took only a few bars of "What a Fool Believes" by the Doobie Brothers to remind The Agent that April Fool's Day had arrived. But, rather than a day of cruel jokes, Edward was confident that the day would be the culmination of deals he'd been working on for weeks.

He was due in New York City that very morning, so he had just a few minutes to get ready before his limo drove him to the airport and the tarmac where he'd board his private jet.

Edward's excursion to the east coast started on Wednesday when he flew from Seattle to Southern Florida. He was successful in his mission to wine, dine and sign two seasoned NFL players. They were free agents and far past their prime, but Edward secured two new contracts the same day he signed them.

The Dolphins were thrilled in their acquisition of two veteran football players who had the talent and leadership that the otherwise inexperienced team needed. The players were pumped to play another season. Edward's take home pay was a cool $1.2 million.

The Agent partied all night with the two newest and oldest Dolphins, hitting one Miami hotspot after another.

He had lived up to his reputation as the best in the business. He had connections with every team in every city and he had an uncanny ability of matching talent with those teams. Most every deal he made left both sides smiling. Edward could make it appear that both parties won at the negotiation table. Of course, the law of physics stated that was impossible--that for every action there is an opposite reaction, that with give there must be take.

When it came to business, The Agent was on the receiving end of that equation. Every time.

Until, of course, it was time to make a deal with Isabella.

**xXx**

The possible trade between the Yankees and Mariners began two weeks prior, when Edward received a phone call from Jacob Black, who was a third baseman for the New York Yankees. Jacob wanted to be traded to the Mariners and needed an agent to make it happen. Edward estimated the amount of commission dollars that were at stake, dropped everything, called his pilot, and was on The Cullen Agency's corporate jet en route to New York within the hour. He met with Jacob that very evening.

Jacob brought along his only copy of his New York Yankees contract. Upon Edward's initial inspection, he was both impressed and intrigued as to how a rookie baseball player could pull off such an impressive deal without an agent.

Edward was a lawyer first and an agent second, and like any attorney worth his salt, he listened while Jacob dug a hole for his ex.

Jacob said that his _ex-fiancé_, well, not really his ex-fiancé since she never said yes, but his ex-girlfriend at least, was in law school in Phoenix when Jacob got called up to the Yankees. She was working as an intern for the Diamondbacks and actually wrote his contract and reviewed all of the legal crap that the Yankees tried to insert before he signed on the dotted line.

Jacob said that she knew everything there was to know about baseball teams, contracts and player salaries. He said he owed it all to her, his whole career, really, since she was the one who encouraged him to play college ball in the first place. His father had wanted him to stay close to home. He had obligations to his Native American tribe, but his girlfriend convinced him that when he hit it big, he could send money home and help rebuild the reservation. When the time came, he could return to his tribe.

Jacob remembered that when she wrote his contract, she told him she'd built in a back door, whatever that meant. Jacob said that he needed out. He hoped that Isabella's back door was his ticket out of New York. But, since she didn't return his calls, he asked his union rep for some advice.

That was how Jacob learned about The Agent. The union rep said that if anyone could help him, it was Edward Cullen.

Oh, and the Union rep also said that because Bella was working for the Mariners, it was probably a conflict of interest for her to help with his old contract.

Edward couldn't believe his ears. "Bella" was apparently the same "Isabella Swan" that he had successfully dodged for nearly a year. Although she was stunning to look at, beauty didn't often equate brilliance and, since time was money, Edward didn't want to waste his valuable time on a junior associate.

Edward found it ironic that Isabella was the infamous "ex" and as a member of the Mariner's legal team, she held the key to the deal.

Edward asked his assistant, Jessica, to schedule a meeting to discuss the trade negotiation. The earliest available time, for both of them, was the evening of April 1st, when they'd both be available for a dinner meeting.

The fact that Edward was meeting with Jacob, the Yankees, Isabella and the Mariners on April Fool's Day provided a little comic relief in an otherwise potentially precarious situation.

The day had finally arrived, and while Edward was anxious to see his plans come to fruition, he still had to finalize everything with Jacob and the Yankees legal team, and get all of their signatures before he returned to Seattle.

Edward's jet taxied into one of the corporate hangars at JFK Airport. His waiting car and driver took him to the Ritz-Carlton, where he was set to meet with Jacob in one of their boardrooms.

The contract Jacob had with the Yankees was solid and fairly standard, except for a few tweaks, and of course, that famous back door. The terms were five years and $42.5 million. As an infielder, Jacob was among the highest paid in the league, though still well below what marquee players such as A-Rod or Derek Jeter were earning.

The Yankees had a pedigree and a bottomless bankroll. Edward put on his agent cap and tried to talk Jake out of leaving the Yankees. The Agent cited the obvious. In just his second year with the team, Jacob experienced what few players ever have the privilege of experiencing in a lifetime--winning the World Series. His diamond-encrusted World Series ring was a testament to that fact.

Edward pointed out all the extra incentive money that Jacob earned last season. For every playoff game the Yankees played, the players earned tens of thousands of dollars. When they _won_ their playoff game, they earned even more. The World Series victory itself padded Jacob's bank account with an extra $100,000.

Edward reminded Jacob that his two-run walk-off homer in the 9th inning was what led to the Yankees victory versus the Phillies. Edward added that this might be a double-edged sword when it came time to talk with the Yankees management, because his obvious value to the team might make the Yankees less willing to let him go.

Edward tried in vain to talk Jacob into staying with the Yankees. He learned that Jake's motivation wasn't money or glory, but rather a sense of obligation to his people back home.

Jacob signed everything that Edward put in front of him. Jacob took Edward's advice and didn't attend the meeting with the Yankees. The Agent warned Jacob to keep quiet about the deal and reply "no comment" when the reporters started calling. Even though there would inevitably be rumors of the trade on ESPN and the radio sports shows, Jacob must remain silent until Edward gave the all clear.

Jake needed to trust that Edward knew when and where to go public. Edward said he had a plan and that within two weeks he'd be wearing a Mariners cap. Edward even invited Jacob to be his guest at the hottest club in Seattle once he made it to the west coast.

Edward's lunch meeting with the Yankees legal team was successful. New York finally agreed that they'd release Jacob Black from his contract. The "back door" was actually an "escape clause" that stated Jacob Black could "entertain a trade or terminate his contract if extenuating circumstances, such as death or incapacitation of the tribal chief, required his return to his native Quileute people of Washington."

Edward convinced New York's attorneys that "such language was protected as a religious accommodation under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. That was a fine argument as the Yankees weren't about to become the public villains who denied a Native American player his rights to religious expression.

But, what really piqued their interest was who they were getting in trade for Jacob Black. The Yankees were practically salivating over left-hander Robbie Sawyer, who had been traded to the Mariners at the end of the 2009 season.

Sawyer had spent three years with the Boston Red Sox, so his value to the Yankees was more than just his impressive stats. Robbie Sawyer knew the ins and outs of the BoSox and could help the Yankees bury Boston again in 2010. Robbie was drooling at the prospect of playing for a team that would actually be a contender in 2010.

Edward was confident this deal would go through. After all, it seemed like a win-win all around. He finished up in New York and caught up on his sleep during the flight to Seattle.

He arrived with just enough time to clean up in the jet's washroom before his driver raced through Seattle to get him to Poppy in time to meet with Isabella Swan, the only obstacle standing in the way of the deal.

Edward was confident he'd bring her to her knees--figuratively of course, but the thought did bring a gleam to his eye.

**xXx**

James called Tanya at her home at the crack of dawn.

Tanya had the look--strawberry blonde hair, green eyes.

Edward had the hook--who the hell wouldn't want to land a billionaire?

James requested a breakfast meeting and promised to make it worth her while.

He told her he had an endorsement deal for her. As a Roller Girl, she'd be the official face of "Venom" derby skate wheels. She would get free merchandise, a professional photo shoot that would be published in Derby promo magazines all across the country, and $25,000 in cold, hard cash.

There was only one small hitch. Tanya had to catch the eye of one Edward Cullen.

James knew just the way to make it happen.

Her name was Alice.

**xXx**

Just as she promised, Alice was waiting for Bella. The suit was a stunning charcoal black. The blazer had just one button, made from some type of shell. The blouse was low cut, made of silk and the color was an alluring tanzanite blue. Alice, of course, also created a bra and panty set in matching tanzanite lace.

Bella threw her arms around Alice, and that was really the only payment she would ever need. Alice loved to make her friend happy, and if this was what it took to bring a smile to Bella's face, she'd make her a thousand outfits.

"It's perfect, Alice. He won't know what hit him!" Bella complimented her.

Bella quickly showered, while Alice got her hair products and makeup in order. Alice wished that she'd secured Marcus's help, but it was too late by that point.

Bella dried off in the bathroom, put on her robe and entered her bedroom. She faced her dressing table mirror and applied some Vaseline to her tattoo.

Alice about had a coronary. "Bella! You got a tattoo!!!! Tell me you didn't really get a tattoo! What were you thinking? Did you know you can't be buried in a Jewish cemetery? At least that's what I saw on Curb Your Enthusiasm. Bella! That really puts a damper on your clothes situation. You got a tattoo…on your breast!"

Bella rolled her eyes. Of course she knew she had a tattoo. "Alice, calm down. I did it for me. It's small enough and low enough, that I am certain I can wear just about anything you design, and no one will ever have to know. The actual leaf itself is just a little larger than the size of a quarter, anyway."

Alice looked like she had tears in her eyes. "But still, Bella. It's…"

Bella interrupted her, "Ali, really, if I'd wanted the world to see it, I would have gotten the tattoo on my shoulder, or my ankle, or my bicep, whatever. But, this tattoo is just for me. It reminds me of my past and my future, my strengths and my weaknesses. It reminds me how far I've come and how much I can endure. It's for me. And, furthermore, I'm not Jewish, so I don't think I'll need that Jewish burial plot anytime soon. But, back to the tattoo…Alice, I know I sprung this on you out of left field…can you work with it?"

Alice nodded her head and pulled out her trusty tool box of essentials. She pulled out her aerosol can of "Stick-um" and waved it at Bella. That adhesive spray could do wonders and when Alice sprayed it on Bella's breast and lightly touched down on the blouse, it clung to the exact place that Alice intended--without revealing the tatt.

Suddenly, Alice started jumping up and down like a marionette. "Bella, Bella! We get to meet Rose's boyfriend. Turns out he really is real, I mean I knew he was real, but who could be sure? Anyway, she's finally agreed to let us meet him!"

Bella asked when and where because it sounded too good to be true. For as long as Isabella knew Rosalie, she'd never stuck with any man this long.

Alice trilled on a mile a minute, "Opening day, Bella, for the cast party! _'On the Town'_ opens on Sunday, April 11th. It's a matinee and I've got tickets for the three of us to watch the show. There's a snob fest right after, for all the benefactors--you know, wine and cheese--that sort of thing? We'll go to that, but the real fun will start that night. We'll change at 5th Avenue; maybe get Marcus to redo our make-up. All the cool people from the cast and crew are meeting at Discovery Park for a bonfire that night. Rose's mystery man is meeting us there. If all goes well with my little Penguin, I'll invite him, too. If he brings Bruce, we'll all beat him up!"

"What do you mean? Are you calling him tonight?" Bella asked. Maybe this whole mess with Bruce would be cleared up sooner than she thought.

Alice beamed. "A woman from work is actually a Roller Girl. Her name's Tanya and she's going to get me in tomorrow night. I never really got along with her, but she saw me waiting in line Tuesday night and invited me to go with her. Oh, my God, Bella! I will see him tomorrow night!"

Bella was genuinely happy for her best friend and she told her as much. Alice offered to find out more about Bruce, but Bella told her perhaps it was best if she just kept it between her and Jasper for now. Bella wouldn't want anything negative to tarnish the budding romance and Alice seemed grateful for the thought.

Soon though, they agreed.

Bella didn't want to ruin the moment, so she didn't tell Alice about the photographs that arrived at her Baltimore hotel. She didn't tell her about the creepy _stalkerish_ poetry.

_But one of these days, Isabella was going to make the motherfucker bleed. _

Alice offered up a consolation prize to her own Prince Charming, "Wouldn't it be great, Bella? You can meet him, too. You will love him I just know it. There will be tons of hot straight guys there, Bella!"

Bella was quick to nip that thought in the bud, "Remember, I am on a man sabbatical right now. I'll go to the bonfire, but I'm not hooking up with anyone. I've had enough for awhile."

Alice smiled a mischievous little grin, "Do you want me to call you in like an hour to rescue you from your _date_ with The Agent?"

"It's a meeting, not a date," Isabella argued.

"Of course, Bella."

Bella just rolled her eyes and refused to even comment.

Alice smirked again, "Ima text you at least!"

**xXx**

Isabella arrived at 7:07pm--fashionably late, but not so late as to appear rude. The hostess showed her to the table. The restaurant overlooked the Puget Sound and it was quiet enough for them to have their meeting without shouting.

Edward watched her as she approached and Bella saw that he was impressed. She'd have to remember to buy something special for Alice, because this suit was spectacular.

Bella was sure it was some type of involuntary reflex, that when a man was checking a woman out, he literally and figuratively looked her up and down.

He stood and greeted her, shaking her hand with his right, while pulling her chair out with his left.

Both of them were stunned into silence from the static electricity that shocked each other as their hands touched.

Both found the electricity familiar.

Neither remembered the specific memory.

"Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me, Miss Swan. I'm Edward. Edward Cullen. You look lovely tonight." Edward's voice flowed like chocolate from a fountain.

"It's Isabella, and thank you for the compliment. My girlfriend is a designer and she likes to experiment on me." She tried to downplay the obviously new suit. She didn't want him to get too cocky in his $2,000 Armani, because she knew she'd be reigning him in fairly soon.

"Well, tell your friend that she does great work. Since you were running a few minutes late, I took the liberty of ordering our salads and a bottle of wine. I hope you like Cakebread Cellars. I ordered the 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon." He asked, but he really wasn't giving her much of a choice.

Isabella recognized his tactic immediately. He was already taking charge of the meeting. She'd top him in a few.

"That was so considerate. You must really do your homework, because Cakebread is my very favorite winery in Napa." _Yeah, right…_

_Take that! _

He was completely taken aback. Was it really her favorite? Because, if it was true, that was an interesting coincidence, because Cakebread was one of his favorites, too.

His tone was clipped, "Lucky guess, really. Take a look at the menu while I get some paperwork out of my briefcase." _He wasn't asking._

_The tone? Really, he is trying "the tone" with me? Good luck with that, because I invented "the tone."_

"You seem like you are in a hurry to get somewhere. Why don't we just skip the pleasantries and move on to the real reason you called this meeting? What do you want to talk with me about?" Isabella's cockles were raised. The Agent was trying to rush her, unhinge her, but something was definitely up.

_Game on, Cullen, she thought._

He apologized for appearing rushed. He made some lame excuse that he'd either been in meetings or on his "jet" all day. Isabella didn't give him the satisfaction of appearing to be impressed.

He probably didn't win a $75 million case today. She wasn't one to brag, and he'd hear it through the grapevine soon enough.

_Confidentiality clauses aren't worth the paper they're written on in this gossip-driven industry_.

That would make it all the more sweet that she didn't bring it up. When word got out that on April 1st Isabella Swan independently won her case against a whole legal team….

The server interrupted her musings and asked Isabella what she'd like for dinner. She ordered the green roasted halibut with saffron leeks and chervil. It was the first item in the "fish" section, and she wasn't in the mood to peruse the menu.

Edward ordered the pork adobo with Peruvian spice, polenta and pickled radish.

When he said the words, "pickled radish," Isabella was reminded of Pickles Pub and her reconnaissance mission. She smiled.

Edward noticed the smile, and thinking she was smiling at him, he smiled right back. His lopsided grin was enough to make her swoon, and God, she hoped he didn't catch her swoon.

Because that would put her at the disadvantage, and Isabella kept repeating, "on top, on top, on top, on top, on top…," in her head, of course.

Not the sexual position or anything, although that thought may have fleetingly crossed her mind, but she had to stay on top of this meeting, stay in control, and she wouldn't let his panty-dropping smile interfere with business.

As she ate her salad, Edward told her about Jacob Black and Robbie Sawyer and the trade that had already been agreed upon by the New York Yankees, the Mariner's team manager, both players…and that all Isabella needed to do was sign right here on this line and everything would be settled and they could go on with their dinner… "and look at that sunset over the Sound."

Isabella thought about that for a second. If it weren't so lame, she might have actually laughed out loud. Did this guy really just blurt out the entire side of his case, and then try to flirt with her about the fucking sunset over the Sound?

_Please._

And then Isabella thought long and hard about this deal. She wondered why Jacob wanted to come back to Washington. She hoped everything was all right with the tribe at La Push. Certainly if something had happened to Billy, who was Jacob's father and the Chief of the tribe, then she would have heard.

She questioned whether it was Jacob's way of worming himself back into her life.

She thought about how this was a bad idea. She remembered how a year prior, she had turned down the Yankees offer to work in _their _legal department because she wanted to be far away from Jacob Black. It wasn't that she didn't care for him, as a friend at least; it was that _he_ couldn't take "no" for an answer.

But whatever "past" she and Jacob shared, that wasn't a valid reason to refuse to sign the contract.

She knew the Mariners would never be able to pay him what he deserved. Isabella had drawn up Jacob's contract and she knew that he received some hefty bonuses based on the Series win with the Yankees last year. She knew that Jacob had exponentially more earning power if he stayed with the Yankees in the long term.

So far, the only reasons Isabella could come up with to decline the offer, weren't related to the Mariners.

She knew she'd have to think fast.

What were valid reasons to decline an offer? Stats? Money? Immoral behavior? Contract terms? She pondered the most viable angles.

She knew Rob Sawyer, the player Jake was set to replace on the team, and, Jacob certainly ranked higher on a stat sheet. But, Rob Sawyer's contract had an extra year, and at a lower pay rate than Jacob's.

She'd decline the offer based on money and terms of the deal.

She'd hope that Jacob would simply stay with the Yankees. It would be better for both of them.

"No. I won't sign. Based on the fact that the terms of Mr. Sawyer's contract are more favorable to the team, as the representative for the Mariners, I am declining the trade." Isabella spoke clearly and definitively.

"Why? There's no reason for you to decline this deal. It's a good deal for all parties, Ms. Swan." He was condescending as he spat out her name.

"I don't answer to you, Mr. Cullen. I know you almost as well as you know yourself. I've done my research, and unlike some random guess about what wine to order, I actually am keenly aware of your tactics. I've read all about you." Isabella protested a bit too much.

"I've read about you, too, Is-a-Bella. But let's bring this back to business, shall we? You certainly wouldn't let something _persona__l_ get in the way of business, now would you, Miss Swan? I'm fully aware of your past romance with Jacob Black. You may not be over it, but he certainly appeared quite over you. But, if you want to get personal, if you want to resort to playing petty games, Is-a-Bella, then let me warn you, I play to win." The Agent clearly had enough of Isabella's refusal to go forward with the trade.

The only roadblock was Isabella. She was the legal representative for the Mariners, and she wasn't budging an inch.

"Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Cullen, as the …." She tried fruitlessly to gain ground, but before Isabella could utter her poignant prose, The Agent unceremoniously interrupted her…again.

"As Jacob Black's attorney and agent, I am fully aware that he had no _official_ representation during his negotiation with the New York Yankees. I was informed that you, Miss Swan, even though you were still in law school, acted as Mr. Black's attorney and agent behind the scenes in those talks. Is it true, Miss Swan, that you not only drafted his contract, but offered legal counsel in regards to salary and terms of his rookie contract with the Yankees?" He paused as if he expected Isabella to answer him.

"And if my research is correct, Miss Swan, you were neither a member of the New York Bar nor the Arizona State Bar. Actually, Miss Swan, you weren't a member of any State Bar, yet you were practicing law--without a license I might add. Is that correct, Miss Swan?"

And there it was, the proverbial final nail. Edward Cullen, The Agent, looked right into Isabella's eyes. He couldn't get a read as to whether she was resolved in defeat or readying for battle.

The Agent knew that Jacob had offered the information about Isabella with no malice toward her. Edward deduced, through his conversations with Jacob, that he still cared for her deeply.

Jacob had spoken of "Bella" with pride, "She was my unofficial lawyer during the entire thing with the Yankees and saved me millions of dollars in lawyer and agent fees."

Edward knew that when Jacob shared that information, he certainly hadn't intended for The Agent to use it against Isabella. But, as Jacob Black's _official_ attorney and agent, Edward Cullen would stop at nothing to seal the deal for his client.

The Agent pulled out a pen from inside his Armani suit jacket and said in that same condescending tone as if he were scolding a toddler, "Now, Miss Swan, do you want to pursue your petty prejudices or are you ready to sign Jacob Black to the Mariners?"

Isabella paused to make sure The Agent had finished showing his cards.

She shook her head infinitesimally, rolled her eyes and choked out a disgusted cough. "So, that's what they taught you at Stanford?"

"Excuse me?" Edward couldn't believe his ears. He had just told her that he knew she had broken the law and committed ethics violations and all she could do was ask a question on where he went to law school. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"More specifically, I'd like to know if Stanford condones extortion as a viable legal recourse, because I certainly can't remember it being acceptable on any of the bar exams that I have taken, _Agent_." She spewed his nickname as if it was an expletive, rather than the reverent term bestowed upon him by others in the industry.

"Well, Isab…" The Agent began, but was interrupted in the same fashion.

"No, you don't get to talk right now. I don't owe you any explanation, but since you are Jacob Black's attorney, I don't want there to be any confusion. You should know that I absolutely freely and willingly offered my advice to my friend. I did not profit from that advice and I wasn't misrepresenting myself as a licensed attorney. Jacob was fully aware of my status as a law student.

"Furthermore, because Jacob was my friend, I chose to help him like any friend would. I secured the help of my mentor, who happened to be and remains an attorney with the Diamondbacks. Demetri Skyros was happy to help me help my friend. As a licensed attorney in the State of Arizona, he was, of course, acting within his ethical boundaries to offer his assistance as my mentor.

"When the Yankees incorporated their own 'demands' into the contract, it was that same mentor that helped me review that contract to make sure there wasn't anything 'hidden' in there, such as a loophole to fire him prior to the contract end date, and so on.

"The back door, the Quileute clause, so to speak, was my idea. I am certain you discovered that, because that's the only way the Yankees would have released him.

"But, since I did indeed help with the unofficial negotiation of that contract, I am aware of another clause, one that the Yankees inserted. It states that at the Yankees' discretion, they may extend his contract by another year at the same yearly salary.

"So, if you are offering Jacob Black, MVP of the World Series, then you're going to have to amend that contract.

"Add another year to the deal, and, since he is a friend, I won't ask to renegotiate his pay. Furthermore, since Jacob is my friend, and you pissed me off by accusing me of something that you couldn't back up, before I sign, you will cut your commission in half.

"That'll help you remember to do your homework and maybe next time you won't break the cardinal rule, because don't you know, _Agent_, you're never supposed to ask a question to which you don't know the answer." The disdain was evident in her voice.

"And, I've lost my appetite. Redraw the contracts, both of them. Prove to me you've cut your fee for Jacob and I want that extra year. I'll see you next week, unless of course you'd like to try your luck with someone else."

Edward smiled as he watched her walk away. She was quite the worthy adversary, indeed.

And he very much looked forward to any reason to meet with her again.

**xXx**

When James had called Isabella's office earlier that week, under the auspices of requesting a meeting with her, Lauren was quite forthcoming with Isabella's schedule. She offered that she wouldn't be free "all week." James charmed Lauren into telling him everything he needed to know. James learned that Isabella was in Baltimore and once she returned Thursday afternoon, she had "a dinner meeting with Edward Cullen."

James's blood boiled at the thought of _his Ivy_ going to dinner with Edward Cullen. He'd lost enough deals to Edward Cullen and he wasn't about to lose Ivy, too.

He was most certain that Isabella had no clue that Edward Cullen was Batman. James was confident that the plant and the pictures he sent, under "Bruce's" very hand, had swayed any fairytale thoughts that she may have held toward the masked man.

Still, the very thought that _his Ivy_ was meeting with his arch enemy made James's blood boil. He learned that the only afternoon flight that arrived from Baltimore, would bring Ivy back home to him at 3:30. He gambled that Ivy would go to her loft prior to her meeting, so he sat vigil in his car next to her building as he awaited her return. He watched as her friend Alice exited a taxi. With her arms full of garment bags and a rolling suitcase, she entered the building. Ivy arrived shortly thereafter.

James waited patiently for Ivy to leave her building. He was furious at the short skirt and revealing blouse that she wore. He wondered if she was trying to flirt with his enemy? Was she trying to seduce him?

He wasn't letting her out of his sight -- not that night, nor any other. He watched as Ivy entered a cab, and with his fingers white from his death grip on the steering wheel, he followed in pursuit.

James slipped unnoticed into the bar at Poppy shortly after Isabella arrived.

He stood behind a potted fern and watched.

He could tell by the paperwork and body language that the meeting between Bruce and Ivy was strictly business. They didn't let on that either knew who the other was. Part one of his plan was being set into motion that very second with Tanya.

And part two, well that was soon to come, and Ivy would run right into his waiting arms.

**xxxXxxx**

**END NOTES**

**Well, did that make up for not showing you enough of the Agent in past chapters? Did Isabella give him a run for his money? Did he get under her skin? Did she get under his?**

**INSIGHT INTO TAATE:**

**Everyone who reviews chapter 6 will receive a 1,300 word (8,000 character / maxed out) review reply that will include the ins/outs of the characters, motivations, etc. Really, it's longer than many author's actual chapters. JS.**

**Please review. Of course, as always, you get a pic tease. This one, is, well, the best yet. And, well, here's the description:**

**Rob is wet.**

**Follow me on twitter (at)hockeymomtweets and I'll follow you right back.**

**Thanks a million to Kristine, Ironic Twist for all you do for me!!**

**Check out her fic if you haven't already. It inspired this story and it is way awesome.**

**.net/s/5257177/1/**

_**Thanks to MK for helping me with the legalese.**_

_**As always, this story is dedicated to LD, MR and MK.**_


	7. If the Shoe Fits

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners. **_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**Thank you to my beta and mentor, Ironic Twist.**_

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

**A/N: If you read the "pre-beta" version of the last chapter, then you missed this little piece that sheds light on James's obsession. Otherwise, feel free to skip ahead….**

When James called Isabella's office earlier that week, under the auspices of requesting a meeting with her, Lauren was quite forthcoming with Isabella's schedule. She offered that she wouldn't be free "all week." James charmed Lauren into telling him everything he needed to know. James learned that Isabella was in Baltimore and once she returned Thursday afternoon, she had "a dinner meeting with Edward Cullen."

James's blood boiled at the thought of _his Ivy_ going to dinner with Edward Cullen. He'd lost enough deals to Edward Cullen and he wasn't about to lose Ivy, too.

He was most certain that Isabella had no clue that Edward Cullen was Batman. James was confident that the plant and the pictures he sent, under "Bruce's" very hand, had swayed any fairytale thoughts that she may have once held toward the masked man.

Still, the very thought that _his Ivy_ was meeting with his arch enemy made James's blood boil. He learned that the only afternoon flight that arrived from Baltimore would bring Ivy back home to him at 3:30. He gambled that Ivy would go to her loft prior to her meeting, so he sat vigil in his car next to her building as he awaited her return. He watched as her friend Alice exited a taxi. With her arms full of garment bags and a rolling suitcase, she entered the building. Ivy arrived shortly thereafter.

James waited patiently for Ivy to leave her building. He was furious at the short skirt and revealing blouse that she wore. He wondered if she was trying to flirt with his enemy. Was she trying to seduce him?

He wasn't letting her out of his sight -- not that night, nor any other. He watched as Ivy entered a cab, and with his fingers white from his death grip on the steering wheel, he followed in pursuit.

James slipped unnoticed into the bar at Poppy shortly after Isabella arrived.

He stood behind a potted fern and watched.

He could tell by the paperwork and body language that the meeting between Bruce and Ivy was strictly business. They didn't let on that either knew who the other was. Part one of his plan was being set into motion that very second with Tanya.

And part two, well that was soon to come, and Ivy would run right into his waiting arms.

**xxXxx**

**Chapter 7 – If the Shoe Fits**

April 1, 2010

Edward was intrigued as he watched Isabella walk away. No one had ever left _his_ negotiation table before. Ever. And, not only had Isabella walked away, but she redefined the terms of the deal. His deal. Isabella's words reverberated in his head.

_"Maybe next time you won't break the cardinal rule, because don't you know, '__**Agent,'**__ you're never supposed to ask a question to which you don't know the answer._

She walked away.

"_Redraw the contracts…. Prove to me you've cut your fee…and I want that extra year. _

"…_unless of course you'd like to try your luck with someone else."_

She was brazen, brilliant and beautiful. And she just up and walked out the door.

Isabella Swan was unlike anyone else he'd ever faced before. And, there was no way he was going to work this deal with someone else.

He had to fix this.

The deal was too important. Ah, hell, there was more to it than that and he knew it. He could feel it. There was something about her. _She_ was too important.

The server caught Isabella as she walked toward the door. "But…your fish, ma'am…. Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"

Isabella didn't so much as offer a token glance in Edward's direction, but he heard her scathing remark loud and clear.

"No, thank you. Feed it to the shark."

**xXx**

As adrenaline raced through her veins, Isabella stormed out of the restaurant and continued to walk. Her destination was simply…away. Isabella was blind with anger and her mind didn't even register where she was going; her legs involuntarily propelled her forward.

She dialed Alice.

"Bella! It's not even 7:45. What happened?" Alice knew it couldn't possibly be good.

"What happened? What _didn't happen_ would be a more accurate question. He ordered the wine without giving a rat's ass what I liked. He ordered our salads because I was seven minutes late. Then, get this, _then_ he actually accused me of breaking the law--of practicing law without a license--of ethics violations, which by the way I didn't do any of it, just so you know. Aaagh! I am so livid I…I could just…!" And suddenly it was Isabella who was at a loss for words.

"But you like him, don't you? I've never heard you sound like this before and _methinks_ _thou dost protest too much_." Alice tried in vain to make light of her friend's obviously stressed situation.

"Don't start with me, Alice. And, no, I don't _like_ him. Not even close. He's the most infuriating, frustrating, self-absorbed, cocky, presumptuous man I've ever met in my entire life. Actually, I think the more appropriate term is…hate." Now that she identified her emotions, Bella calmed down considerably.

"You left out 'gorgeous.' You know what they say, Bella, it's a fine line between love and hate," Alice offered sagely.

Her words fell on deaf ears.

Isabella walked as she talked. "Where the hell am I, anyway?" Isabella thought out loud.

"What do you mean, where are you? Bella, you're scaring me to death! You're not in some seedy part of town all by yourself are you?"

"Don't mind me. I'm just clearing my head, taking a walk. I love these shoes, by the way. Forget Adam - - this is why God made Manolo Blahnik. I swear I could walk ten miles in these heels." And suddenly Bella had an idea. If she could walk ten miles, surely she could walk a mile across town.

"Ali, I am starving to death, I need a drink, and I'm wearing this fuckhot outfit that you designed just for me. There's a live band at See Sound Lounge--do you want to meet up for dinner?"

"I've got about an hour left here, and a coworker is bringing in sandwiches for my crew. How about you eat and then I'll cab it over for drinks? Meet you there at 9:00?" Alice really didn't have the time, but there was no way she was going to leave her friend out in the cold…all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Bella was hopeful to be able to salvage the night and get her mind off of The Agent. "That's fine. I'm going to call Rosalie, and see if she wants to join us." Bella wasn't happy at the thought of getting the third degree from both Alice and Rosalie, but at least if Rosalie got there early enough, then Bella wouldn't have to eat alone.

There was nothing more pitiful than eating alone.

**xXx**

Alice laid her phone down next to her sewing machine at the Theatre. She made quick work of the trim she had to add to the costumes for the opening dance number.

Tanya entered the door with a sandwich tray large enough to serve everyone in the cast and crew, let alone just the costume department.

"Those costumes look fantastic, Alice," Tanya's voice was sugary sweet as she brown-nosed her soon-to-be best friend.

"Thanks, it's gonna be a great show. The sandwiches look delicious, by the way. And, I just can't thank you enough for taking me to TPC tomorrow night. Is that what you wanted to talk about? " Alice wondered why Tanya was suddenly being so nice to her. After all, they'd worked together for years and she hadn't given Alice the time of day until, well, earlier that very day.

"You're welcome. It's no problem at all. Do you think you'll be ready to leave at 9:00 tomorrow night? Things don't really get going until then, anyway." Tanya had to play it cool. She had a lot riding on this little exchange.

Alice was giddy with anticipation. Twenty-four hours and she'd be in Jasper's arms. Her smile grew wide and suddenly she felt deeply indebted.

"I'll be ready and waiting. And, hey, I know we've never been close, but I appreciate this, I really do. If there's ever anything I can do for you…?" Alice offered rhetorically, not actually expecting Tanya to actually ask for anything.

Tanya smiled because Alice had taken the bait. Tanya's voice was soft and apologetic, "Actually, since you asked…no, never mind, I couldn't…."

Tanya left the bait dangling.

"What is it? Just ask, Tanya." Alice really did feel indebted to Tanya and at this point, there wasn't much she wouldn't do for the woman who was going to lead her into the arms of her soul mate.

"Okay, but I feel horrible even asking. I have this dress… it's a Wonderland, one of your designs I think. It's the pearly white mini with the shimmery pear-green accents. Do you know the one I'm talking about?" Tanya was reeling her in.

Alice nodded. She knew the exact dress, but what she couldn't believe was that Tanya actually owned something that she designed? Small world.

"Anyway, I was hoping to wear it tomorrow night, but I don't have any shoes to go with. I tried an ivory pair and they looked like something my mother would wear. Then, I tried on about a hundred black heels and none of them did a thing for this dress. Well, you can imagine, I'm sure." Tanya exhaled in exasperation. She played her role perfectly.

"Do you have anything in here that might work? I'll make a donation back to the theatre of course. I mean, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble or anything." Tanya made it sound so innocent.

Alice smiled as she jumped up from her seat. "What are you…a size 7? I have the perfect pair!"

And Alice did indeed have exactly what Tanya asked for. They were iridescent green heels with a ribbon tie that laced up the calf.

They were the very same shoes that "Ivy" wore the night of the Maskorade Ball.

And, now, they belonged to Tanya.

**xXx**

Edward sat by himself at his table for two. The two half-full glasses of wine and the untouched entrees mocked him. There was no way he was eating—or drinking--alone.

He motioned for the server to bring his check and he called his driver. Fifteen minutes later, he was walking through the doors of The Players Club.

His club. His turf.

He walked over to _his_ table and sat down, determined to salvage something from the night. He was starving and he was craving something that he couldn't quite put his fingers on.

Jasper spotted Edward immediately and joined his friend. He asked what in God's creation Edward was doing there so early--didn't he have a meeting or something? Edward explained, without going into detail of course, because of client confidentiality, but he mentioned that he may have inadvertently accused Isabella of committing a few felonies and misdemeanors before she systematically threw it all back in his face and walked out the door. Yeah, yeah, none of it turned out to be true. Edward said he learned his lesson but the damage was already done.

And he was hungry.

As if she were a mind reader, Rae, a waitress with long glossy black hair and tanned skin, appeared at the table. She brought Edward a glass of Makers Mark and offered Jasper a bottle of water. Rae brought the drinks to the table without even having to get their order. She knew that Jasper never drank while he worked at the Club, and she knew that Makers Mark was one of Edward's favorites.

Edward ordered a Porterhouse and a baked potato. And, no thank you, he didn't want a salad.

_He'd already had a salad, with Isabella._

Jasper coughed out a laugh. "The Lady Lawyer really managed to rattle your cage, didn't she?"

Edward assured his friend that his cage was not rattled.

He may have made a few mistakes. No, it wouldn't be good for The Cullen Agency or the Club if word got out that he tried to extort a signature out of Isabella Swan and the Mariners, but, not to worry, he would smooth things over.

_Extortion_…. It wasn't exactly like that, was it? No, it was more like he was revealing some facts that didn't exactly turn out to be facts in the hopes of getting her to sign on the dotted line….

_Crap._ He really did have some major backpedaling to do if he was going to salvage the deal with the new Mariner's infielder.

But Edward Cullen was just as interested in salvaging something with Isabella Swan. Of course, he wasn't about to admit it.

Jasper mentioned that with the new Mariners season there would be potential new members of TPC. He talked to Edward about his plans for a party to welcome the new players to Seattle.

Talking about a new event reminded Edward of some unfinished business from the Maskorade Ball. Specifically, Edward wanted to ensure that the video tapes from the basement were destroyed like he'd asked. Edward hadn't realized at the time, that the security cameras were activated in the basement and therefore recorded everything from that night.

_Everything between Ivy and him. _

He wasn't taking any chances and he didn't want those tapes to get in the wrong hands. He had called and spoken to Laurent about the tapes the morning after the Ball, but he hadn't gotten a chance to confirm that all the tapes were indeed deleted.

Just as he was going to speak to Jasper about it, Rae walked up to the table with his steak.

"Can I get you anything else, Mr. Cullen?" Rae asked him.

Edward thanked her for the steak and told her that actually, if she could go to the security office and ask Laurent to join Jasper and him, that would be great.

Edward wasn't three bites into his steak when Mr. Security himself slithered into a chair at the table.

There was just something about him that Edward didn't like. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it wasn't as if Laurent hadn't ever been anything but professional and competent. He had always done everything they had asked him to do. It was more like Laurent was too capable, too willing to work around the clock with not so much as a complaint.

And in this day and age, that just doesn't happen.

Emmett had noticed it first; making a joke that perhaps Laurent should bring a cot into the security office because he never left. The partners had offered to hire an assistant security manager to help out, but Laurent always insisted that he could handle everything, that others would just get in the way. The fact that there hadn't been a breach in the computer security, that there hadn't been any employee theft and, of course, that the Club itself hadn't been broken into was a testament that TPC was more secure than Fort Knox.

"Jasper, Edward, a pleasure. We never find time to discuss business, do we? What is it that I can assist you with this evening?" Laurent asked in his thick French-Canadian accent, as he tucked a stray dread behind his ear.

Edward asked Laurent point blank if he had erased the Maskorade Ball tapes from the basement video feeds and could he bring Edward the clean tapes just to be sure. Laurent assured Edward that the tapes were completely destroyed and discarded, and therefore there weren't any blank tapes to inspect.

This answer didn't exactly settle Edward's mind. He wished he had concrete proof that the tapes were destroyed. He didn't want the tapes to end up in the wrong hands. He didn't so much worry for himself, but they could destroy Ivy, and he would never want to hurt her.

"That's not acceptable, Laurent. I asked you to…." But Edward couldn't complete his thought.

Because, at that very moment, Emmett came barreling in and plopped a giant McDonald's bag on the table. He deepened his voice in a mock alto and sang the Filet-o-fish song:

"_Give me that filet-o-fish, give me that fish. Give me that filet-o-fish, give me that fish, whoooooo!"_

And with that, he continued to hum the song, while he pulled out eight filet-o-fish sandwiches. He piled them high in the middle of the table while Edward and Jasper sat dumbfounded. With a big huge grin, he took a sandwich, opened the wrapper and took a huge, sloppy bite.

Jasper shook his head. He couldn't believe it. "You do realize that this is a restaurant? We serve actual food here."

"But it was in my head, Jazzie. You can't deny the power of the jingle." And he started to sing some more, pointing animatedly at Jasper.

"_What if it were you hanging up on this wall…"_

Emmett made fast work of the first sandwich and grabbed another. He took a giant bite, swallowed it whole, and then he offered his homage to the filet-o-fish, "They really are good. I brought enough for each of us. We should put 'em on our menu."

Edward spat a snide comment. "Yeah, Jasper, you should speak to Chef about that."

"What's got his panties in a wad?" Emmett asked Jasper, obviously referring to his moody cousin.

"Edward was his typical self during a _date_ this evening and is trying to work out a way to make it up to her. Apparently he pissed her off and she walked out on him; left her dinner right there on the table, too." Jasper tried his best to catch up Emmett, who thrived on gossip and never wanted to be left out of anything.

Edward clarified, "It wasn't a date, it was a trade negotiation."

Emmett and Jasper chimed in unison, "Riiiiiight."

Emmett asked if it had anything to do with Jacob Black coming to the Mariners, 'cause everyone was talking about it in the locker room.

_So much for confidentiality._

"Rob Sawyer is chomping at the bit to get the hell out of Dodge. Coach ain't playing him either. Says if he's so hell bent on playing for the Yankees, then he can just wait it out on the sidelines."

"Who was she, anyway, the chick you went on a date with?" Emmett looked at Edward with a smirk on his face.

"For the last time, it wasn't a date. Isabella Swan and I…." Edward tried to explain, but Emmett interrupted him.

"Ahhh, Dude! My buddy with the Yankees…he's known Black since their rookie year. He says they used to be engaged. Small world! She's that chick lawyer on the 8th floor. Man, Jasper, you should see her. She is smokin' hot! Some of the players go up there just to check out her legs." Emmett smiled appreciatively.

Yeah, he only had eyes for Rosalie, and yeah, she was absolutely the most gorgeous woman on the planet. But he could certainly appreciate a nice pair of legs.

Then Emmett lowered his voice in that same mock alto, "Congratulations, Eddie, you've finally met the woman of your dreams, the future Mrs. Cullen, mother of your children…."

Edward rolled his eyes while Emmett laughed and shoveled another sandwich into his mouth.

While watching Emmett finish off five of his filet-o-fish sandwiches, Edward had an idea. He pulled his Blackberry out of his pocket and dialed Jessica. He paid her enough money that he knew she would answer his call even after hours.

Jessica answered the phone in her bubbly voice, without even a note of irritation. She put on her best impression of a capable and flirty assistant and asked what she could do for Edward.

He told her that his meeting with Ms. Swan had ended unexpectedly, and he'd like to bring her lunch while they finished up some business. "I need you to see if Ms. Swan is available at noon tomorrow. Yes, in her office at Safeco. Call her secretary. Let me know when you hear back."

Jessica told Edward she would take care of it. She hung up and then sent a quick email to Lauren asking her to check Ms. Swan's schedule. Jessica laughed out loud at the fact that he referred to Lauren as a secretary, when she was a real life legal assistant and everything. But, seriously, what did Lauren do that Jessica couldn't? And, Lauren wasn't working for the hottest sports agent in the business, was she? Not to mention that Lauren actually told her what a bitch Isabella Swan was and that she would get hers some day.

Whatever.

Emmett looked at Jasper and mockingly offered, "Well, it'll be their second date. Maybe he'll walk out of there with a happy ending after all"

Emmett barrel laughed at his own crude joke and slapped Edward on the shoulder.

Edward was going to protest but he just ignored it. Emmett was just being Emmett.

The conversation shifted to the Mariners and who Emmett thought was going to make the team, who was going to be sent back down to the minors, and who would be cut. Spring training just ended--as in that night. There were two "split squad" games earlier that day, but Emmett didn't have to participate. Emmett's spot on the team was a lock, but the coaches still had loads of other players still hanging.

Jasper pulled out his phone and dialed the TPC gate extension. He asked Bouncer to come inside for a quick meeting. Bouncer had no clue what this was about, but he was extremely busy. There was already a line and he was in deep conversation with a leggy blonde, so it took him a few minutes to make it inside.

_She'd make the cut tonight_.

Jasper thanked Bouncer for joining the group on such short notice and he assured Bouncer that this would only take a few minutes. Jasper reminded Bouncer that he needed to keep a tight watch on the VIP list. Jasper told Bouncer that he had received a number of complaints from some of the members about "stalkers." Their names had been removed from the VIP list, but somehow these women were still being granted admittance. Jasper told Bouncer that there was a new plan in place to prevent that from happening in the future, and he handed Bouncer a piece of paper.

The heading read, "STOP LIST". Underneath the heading was a list of names - - stalkers each and every one.

They were women who had hung onto the players nightly. But they were kicked to the curb, because they clung too tightly.

Bouncer defended his iron-clad rein at the door. He said that as a matter of fact, just the other night, he'd done a great job of refusing admittance to one of Jasper's stalkers.

"This woman claimed, now get this…that you loved her and she loved you and she was going to marry you some day." Bouncer laughed at the obsurdity.

But Jasper wasn't laughing. _Could it be Selina? Was it even possible?_

"What was her name? What did she look like? Why didn't you call me?" Jasper spat out a string of questions. He knew it was his Catwoman.

Edward's ears perked up and he chimed in, "Did she have a friend with her? Red hair, green eyes, tall?" _Could it be? Did Ivy come back to him?_

Bouncer couldn't believe it. On one hand, Jasper was reaming him a new one because he apparently let "stalkers" in the door, and now both of them were attacking him for "not" letting random women walk in off the street. "I don't remember her name. Hell, hundreds of chicks practically get on their hands and knees and beg me to let them in every week. How am I supposed to remember _your particular stalker's name_?"

"Well, can you tell me what she looked like? Can you at least remember that?" Jasper was fuming. He was ready to jump across the table and make the poor guy remember.

"I may not be good at names, but I never forget a pretty face. She was a tiny little thing….with short, jet black hair that spiked in every direction. I don't know, it was raining buckets that night. She was all by herself, though, so, no, there wasn't a red-headed bombshell with her.

"This chick was a bona fide nut case though, if ever I've seen one. I mean, really, Jasper, she wouldn't leave. She said you 'loved' her for crying out loud. And, that was the first time I'd ever seen her here. And, she wasn't on the list." Bouncer wasn't going down without a fight.

Bouncer stood up and asked if that was everything. He didn't want to stick around any longer and listen to any more of their crap.

"Next time, just come and get me, okay?" Jasper hoped beyond hope that there would be a next time.

When Bouncer left, Laurent took his opportunity to get up from the table as well. "If there's nothing else, I should return to my office and check the monitors."

Edward sipped his Makers Mark and wondered why Catwoman came by herself. Why didn't Ivy come as well? Was it that she didn't want to see him again? Didn't that night mean anything to her? He'd be kidding himself to say he wasn't disappointed. He remembered the hushed tones as they talked. Ivy was adamant about keeping their identities secret. Even their voices were a mystery.

When they connected, when they made love, it was like a first for him, too. Sure, he'd had sex before; countless times with nameless women, and he wasn't proud of it. But, Ivy was different. It wasn't just sex with her. They had made love. He felt the honesty of it, the fact that it just felt…right. And for Edward, that was the first time, the only time, he had made love to a woman.

He learned, after she had already left, when he saw the blood on the white linen, that he was her first. Ever.

And he found the sequined ribbon that he removed from her hair.

He ran to her. He tried to catch her. But, just like in those dreams when something or someone is barely out of reach, when Edward reached the street, her cab was just pulling away.

Ivy just walked away from him. Who does that, anyway? Who walks away from something that could have been special and never looks back?

He felt a tinge of jealousy that Jasper's Catwoman came back for him.

He couldn't help but wonder why Ivy didn't come back, too?

What Edward couldn't rectify in his mind, were the thoughts that he was feeling toward Isabella Swan. If he were honest with himself, he felt guilty. It wasn't even a week ago that he was with Ivy, in every sense of the word. If he pursued something with Isabella, that would be unfair to both Isabella and Ivy.

Irony could be so cruel. In his entire life, he hadn't felt "that" way about any woman, and suddenly there were two women who were occupying his thoughts.

But Ivy walked away, she didn't look back, and he had no way of finding her no matter how hard he tried.

And as for Isabella? She'd walked away from him, too.

She intrigued him, she fascinated him, and she left him wanting more.

So much more.

**xXx**

Once he entered the confines of his soundproof office, Laurent dialed James's number. "You've got trouble in paradise, Brother."

James asked for specifics. Laurent was eager to share, "Edward Cullen is making a play on your Isabella. He's bringing her lunch tomorrow."

Laurent also shared some insight on Isabella's past. "And, there's a new player coming to town. Apparently, he's Isabella's ex fiancé. His name is Jacob Black."

James thanked his step brother and hung up the phone. He took a few cleansing breaths. He was so angry he could crush Edward Cullen's skull with his bare hands. And this…this Jacob Black…well, he wouldn't get within ten feet of his Ivy.

James wasn't able to follow Ivy out the door of the restaurant, because he didn't want to get caught by Edward. The fact that he had no clue where she was or what she was doing fueled his anger even further.

He had watched the DVDs from the Wine Cellar and the Cigar Room. Edward Cullen had his hands all over Ivy. His Ivy. Edward Cullen danced with her. He kissed her. He licked her. He fucked her.

And James was going to fuck with Edward Cullen, because no one touched his Ivy.

James got in his car and drove to The Players Club. And, just as Laurent had promised, the three amigos sat at _their_ table acting all superior to everyone else.

He noticed that the cute little waitress, Rae, was carrying quite a heavy load and she was heading in Jasper's direction. James had asked Laurent about Rae when she first started working at the Club. Laurent, of course, had a copy of her background check, and knew everything there was to know about Renes Me' (Rae) Redfox. She grew up on the Quinault Indian Reservation, and was the first in her family to go to college when she got a full-ride academic scholarship to the University of Washington. This was her forth and final year and she lived in a dorm on campus. She worked nights at TPC to earn spending money, but Rae had mentioned before that she sent most of the money back home to her parents.

Rae looked hurried, so James offered to help lighten her load. "Is that intended for Jasper's table? I'm headed there myself if you'd like me to take that off your hands. Oh, and when you get a moment, can you grab me a Heinekin? No rush, of course." He smiled at her and winked.

Rae called James a life saver. She was so far behind tonight and that was just so considerate of him. James was a great tipper, too. There was something mysterious about him, but still, he couldn't be all that bad if he offered to help her.

James walked over to their table and set the drinks down. Emmett was missing; probably taking a piss.

James brazenly took a seat between Edward and Jasper and goaded, "Your staff is so backed up I'm surprised anyone ever gets served around here. Maybe you should cough up some of your millions and hire some more help."

Neither Edward nor Jasper graced his rudeness with a response. They couldn't believe that the scum had actually sat down at their table. Edward didn't care to speak two words to the bottom feeder. If they could revoke his membership, they would do so in a heartbeat.

James offered some small talk about the new Mariners roster.

Emmett bounded up to the table, turned his chair around and straddled the seat. He noticed James sitting at their table and he started laughing. He wasn't laughing at the fact that James had the balls to actually sit with them. No, it was the fact that the motherfucker had finally cut that long-assed scraggily hair of his.

And, Emmett being Emmett, didn't miss a beat, "What happened to you? Did the cat get your rat tail?"

**xxxxxxXxxxxxx**

**A/N:**

**Can you name the "enemies disguised as friends"? Please review. I respond to each and every one. **

So, what will a review for chapter 7 get you? How about a pic tease plus a spoiler?

The picture? Well…Rob is half naked on a bed and his sweet little head is on a pillow.

*** BTW, Everyone who reviewed Chapter #6 received a 1,200 word "INSIGHT" into the characters, plot lines, etc. So, if you want the inside story, go back and review chapter 6,

**Follow me on twitter (at) hockeymomtweets**

**xXx**

**Thanks so much to my beta Ironic Twist and to heatherdawn for hosting the readalong. The response was phenomenal. I am grateful to you both. **

**Readalongs are a fun way to meet other members of the fandom while you read an awesome fic together. Click on over to ficbridge for more info. **

**http://theficbridge(dot)blogspot(dot)com/?zx=9b75a7f867e3642**

**xXx**

**Silent Tear Awards Voting has begun:**

**There are some great fics listed, so click on over there and vote for your fav's. (And, no, this story is not there, so this is not just a shameless plug, but rather a PSA for your reading enjoyment)**

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**xXx**

**Thanks to Hev99, author of Empty for rec'ing A&E. **

**Thanks to MK for helping with my legalese**

**xXx**

**This story is dedicated to my RL friends and neighbors: LD, MR, MK**


	8. The Trojan Horse

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners. The plot is original and it's mine. **_

**xXx**

_**Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to the all-knowing, all-seeing and all-powerful Kristine, aka Ironic Twist, who just happens to be my beta, but that has nothing to do with it. I made a bet with her and I lost. Let's just say there's a reason why I don't go into the deep end without adult supervision. **_

**xXx**

**A/N: There are no words to express how sorry I am for the delay with this chapter. Real life took over, to say the least. Future chapters should be back on schedule, posting every two-three weeks. Hold on tight. Things are about to go full throttle. I hope this one's worth the wait.**

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

**Chapter 8 – The Trojan Horse**

Fucking Emmett McCarty. Who the hell did he think he was-cackling at James's stylish trim when Emmett was sporting the disco perm from the 70s?

The new look was a necessary move for two reasons. Ivy obviously wasn't attracted to men with long hair. That must be the reason she'd turned him away when he'd asked her to dance at the Maskorade ball.

And, when they meet again, James, who saw himself as the Jester incarnate, simply didn't need the complication of Ivy recognizing him. His trademark blond ponytail was too familiar. A fresh new start with Ivy was imminent, and a brand new haircut with Ivy's personal stylist was the obvious way to go.

He was the Jester-the Joker for crying out loud-and she was Poison Ivy. Didn't she realize they belonged together? The Jester and Ivy–villain and villainess. There couldn't have been a more perfect match, even though the comic book writers never captioned them that way.

No one had ever thwarted his advances like that-and gotten away with it, that is.

James wasn't about to take no for an answer. Ivy belonged to him the second she walked through the doors of The Players Club that night.

No. Scratch that.

Ivy was his at the exact moment she breathed her first lungful of air. From the day she was born. Every breath belonged to James.

She'd dance with him soon enough.

Since the night he first saw her, James thought of Isabella as Ivy. James wanted to know her every move. He followed Ivy home after the Ball, he followed her the next day when she drove to the 5th Avenue Theatre where she met Alice. And, he followed her when she drove to Spa Blix.

Ivy walked in the door with persimmon-red locks, which perfectly personified her as Poison Ivy. She disappointed him when she exited Blix a basic brunette.

She'd be changing it back.

And she'd be staying away from Edward Cullen. It was all James could do to stand aside and watch silently as Ivy and Cullen sat together at Poppy. James wanted to rip Edward's eyes out for peering at her like a vulture eyeing his prey. As if Cullen didn't see enough when he won her at the Maskorade Ball's D&D auction, when in addition to a "drink and a dance," Cullen devoured her.

James saw it all on the video. Countless times. In living color. His brother, Laurent, had come through for James yet again when he gave James the digital feeds from that night… from the Wine and Cigar rooms in the basement of TPC.

Where Cullen fucked Ivy. James's Ivy.

Cullen first got Ivy drunk. Then, he lured her into the Cigar Bar. Cullen continued to wear his Batman mask so she wouldn't know it was him screwing her like some incompetent seventeen year-old.

Like Cullen could ever hold a woman like Ivy.

Like he could ever be _Batman_. Like Cullen could swoop down and sweep her off her feet with his hero bravado.

James was the real superhero, and Ivy would show her appreciation.

It was unacceptable that James didn't know where Ivy was. All he knew was that she was somewhere in Seattle. Alone. Unaccompanied. And the surveillance camera that he'd tapped into, the one from her building, showed that she hadn't returned to her loft.

The quarrel Ivy had with Cullen during their dinner at Poppy resulted in her storming out, by herself, into the night. Cullen's buzzard eyes watched closely as Ivy walked out the door, so James couldn't follow her like he usually did. He'd lost her. He had no way of tracking her.

And it was driving him mad.

James always followed Ivy. There were times when this was impossible, like when she was in Baltimore on some ill-conceived notion she should play a part in a man's world-where the very men she set out to destroy, were most assuredly leering at her.

James would take care of it so she wouldn't work. His mother never worked. That's the way it was supposed to be.

The fact that Ivy had escaped his watchful eye made James's skin flushed with fury. His palms were sweating, and his left eye was twitching, but he had to maintain a cool façade.

His step brother, Laurent, knew all too well how losing sight of Ivy had affected James. James barely functioned the entire time Ivy was in Baltimore. Isabella's job often required her to travel. Laurent knew it would only get worse for his volatile brother. He also knew that he had to find a way to calm James down before he blew both of their covers.

James was a sports agent, which was his ticket to membership into TPC. His work was suffering, some of his players were starting to complain, and if he didn't get his obsession under control, someone was bound to start noticing that something wasn't right.

Laurent had just the plan to calm the storm. He'd share it with his brother that night.

With the click of a button, Isabella would seal her own fate. Tracking her would be as easy as tracking a microchipped canine. Laurent counted on the fact that her curiosity would get the better of her. Laurent was a genius. James would be pleased.

There was nothing Laurent wouldn't do for his brother. And he'd done plenty. It had been that way since they were kids.

Laurent was arguably one of the top corporate security experts on the west coast. He was an authority in cyber security, video surveillance, and wireless technology. He'd be utilizing his expertise in a nefarious manner that would make James quite happy indeed.

James had no idea the surprises that Laurent had in store for him. He sat at the "owners'" table waiting for his drink. He watched, amused at the way his presence intimidated Jasper and Edward, as evidenced by their uncomfortable looks. Jasper would be thanking him if he knew that James was the puppet master pulling the strings and making the reunion with his beloved Catwoman a reality. Edward would thank him soon enough-especially after Tanya got her talons in him.

Meanwhile, Ivy was already being taught about the error of her ways when she chose Batman and turned down Jester in the first place.

She'd be wise to listen in class.

Lesson One: The ivy plant that was delivered to her office with the note card from "Bruce" taught her that Batman was the real villain underneath that mask.

Lesson Two: The photos that were delivered to Ivy's hotel in Baltimore proved that if Ivy didn't want her naked body captured for the world to see, then she should have covered herself with something other than paint

Lesson three was put into motion a few moments ago after Laurent confided to James that Edward was bringing Ivy lunch the next day. Edward might be providing the main course, but James had dessert covered. Ivy would learn that "Bruce" was out for blood, and Edward would discover that Ivy was already taken.

Lesson Three: Two birds…one stone.

And before Edward had time to regroup, Tanya would step into his life as "Ivy". She would provide the perfect distraction in case he had any more grandiose ideas of pursuing Isabella Swan. Tanya's green eyes and strawberry blonde hair meant she was the perfect actress to play the title role. Tanya would walk in the door wearing Ivy's shoes from the Maskorade ball and a lace dress by Wonderland. The moment she stepped foot into TPC, Tanya would become Poison Ivy.

But Edward would require proof. And his friend Jasper would be all too happy to oblige. Alice was Jasper's Catwoman. Of that Jasper would swear his own life. And when Cat and "Ivy" walk in together, Jasper would assume Tanya and "Ivy" were one and the same.

Guilt by association.

His nerves were going to get the best of him. James was ready for that drink.

**xXx**

The crowd was beyond boisterous for a Thursday night. The atmosphere at TPC made it feel more like the weekend, as nearly every table in the Club was filled to capacity.

Players from the major Seattle sports franchises had their eyes glued to the big-screens. The NFL football players didn't have to wear their Seahawks jerseys, because all the beautiful women lucky enough to gain entrance into TPC knew exactly who they were.

There were even a few "signed" Mariners among the mix-they were the precious few players whose positions on the team were guaranteed.

Even though there was a stack of orders ahead of his, Renes Me', or Rae as she was better known, teasingly batted her long eyelashes at Brett Warner, the bartender, and asked for a rush on James Gagne's Heineken. It was the least she could do. That was so nice of James, after all, to help her out by taking that tray to Jasper's table. She didn't want him to have to wait any longer than necessary for his drink.

Brett was more than happy to help. They were constantly covering each other's backs. Rae and Brett met at UW, as both were studying Aquatic and Fishery Sciences. Brett had become her surrogate brother of sorts. He was tall, dark and handsome, but never made any romantic moves toward Rae, which she appreciated beyond words. It was nice to have someone without an ulterior motive watch over her.

The hangers-on at TPC who weren't lucky enough to hang on the arm of a player tried their luck with Brett, but they never seemed to get very far. No one except Brett and Rae knew the real reason. Brett turned down all those bleached-blonde bimbos because he was involved with someone else-a player who that very night was battling for a position on the Mariner's baseball team. The shortstop's name was Seth Clearwater.

Brett's secret was safe with Rae. It was actually Brett who put Rae's name in for the coveted waitress position. Apparently, Jasper had received more than 200 applications for that single job opening; and somehow he hired her. On an average night, she'd pull in over $350 in tips, and one night she even made $1,000. James was always one of the most generous tippers -even though he did creep her out a bit.

With his bottle of beer and a chilled glass in her hands, Rae rushed to the spot in the corner where James usually sat. But he wasn't there. Her eyes darted around her section of TPC, and she was astonished to see that James was sitting at Jasper's table.

_The VIP table. _

Well, it wasn't really a VIP table, per se, but all of the members knew that this was the owners' table. Rae didn't figure James Gagne was part of that inner circle, but there he was, right in the mix, with Jasper, Edward and Emmett-as if he owned the place.

Emmett was guffawing boisterously at something. Jasper and Edward feigned to be coughing, but it was obvious they were stifling laughs. James wasn't even smiling. He actually looked angry.

_Probably just needs his beer._

She approached the table with a wide smile and a courteous greeting. "I see you all got your drinks. Thanks again for helping me out, Mr. Gagne. Here's your Heineken." She leaned down next to him, angled the frosted pilsner glass, and began to pour from the green bottle.

Rae spoke while she poured. "Is everyone all right here? Can I get you anything else?" Her kind eyes sparkled and she made a point to look at each of them.

"I'm good," they spoke in unison.

Except for James, that is. His eyes squinted, his mouth twisted into a scowl, and he held his palms up as if to say, "Stop."

James smirked at the mere thought of watching Rae squirm.

_Game on._

"What the hell is this?" James's hard eyes pierced right through her. He pointed at the bottle of Heineken, which he knew very well was exactly what he'd ordered.

_But he'd fuck with her nonetheless._

"It's your…beer, sir. Is there something wrong?" Rae had no clue that she was a mere pawn in James's game of chess, where he was showing Edward Cullen and his merry men exactly who was King.

He glared at her and spewed through his hardened lips, "If I wanted to drink horse piss I would have asked for it. I told you I wanted a Molson."

_No. He specifically asked for a Heineken. She would bet her paycheck on it. _

Rae's face flushed crimson. She didn't mind Emmett so much, but she was mortified to have made such a slip-up in front of Jasper and Edward. Her nerves got the better of her.

"I'm s-so sorry, sir! I'll get your drink right away. It'll be on me," she offered.

But Jasper wasn't about to let this parasite, who didn't belong at his table in the first place, curse at an employee like that. And, he wasn't going to let James's obvious foul mood, due to Emmett's persistent jabs, lead to money out of Rae's pocket.

Jasper's calm demeanor camouflaged the fact that he wanted nothing more than to grab this scrawny SOB by his newly shorn hair and drag his ass out of the Club. But profanity wasn't an offense that was grounds for membership revocation.

Jasper's tone was sure and strong as he admonished the slime, "Would ya mind watchin' your mouth? Now a mistake's a mistake, but there's no need to use that kind of language in front of a lady; 'specially a member of my staff."

Jasper smiled compassionately at Rae, "I believe Mr. Gagne's fixin' to go sit at his usual table. Once he's settled over there, go ahead and bring him his Molson Ale. And, be sure to ask Brett to put it on my tab. I don't want this on you."

But all Rae heard was her boss saying the word, "mistake" over and over again. Her hands shook, and Rae accidentally tipped over the glass, spilling the beer in James's lap. The sudden cold and the wet and the shock of it all caused James to stand up reflexively. The entire front of his trousers was soaked.

It appeared as though James had pissed his pants. James looked down, then up, and all around. His greatest fears were confirmed. Everybody was gawking at him.

And pointing.

It brought back a flood of memories of when he grew up in Victoria, Canada. As a young boy, and even up until he was fifteen years old, James had woken up practically every morning with damp sheets and wet gitchies. That was what his mom called them - his underwear, that is.

_Fucking girls fucking with him caused it every mother fucking time. It was all good. They got what they had coming to them._

Emmett roared in laughter as he pointed at James's soggy, sorry package, which, with James's thin khaki pants and tighty-whities, left little to the imagination.

"Speaking of pony piss! That's total epicness!" And then Emmett cackled some more.

Edward and Jasper were clearly amused, by Emmett's spot-on quick wit. They choked back some chuckles of their own.

_But, if there was one thing that James absolutely did not tolerate, it was being the butt of a joke._

"You inept….!" James shrieked at Rae, catching himself before he called her a "squaw" like he had intended. He knew that the owners, especially Edward, would take any opportunity to revoke his membership, and the rule against uttering racial slurs had been enforced in the past with an iron fist and zero tolerance.

James had to watch his step.

Tears welled up in Rae's eyes. She was going to get fired for sure. "Oh, my God! Mr. Gagne!" Rae handed James the napkins from the table, as if it would do some good. "I'll pay for your dry cleaning. God, I am so sorry! Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my GOD!" She kept throwing napkins at him.

_God? Hell yeah, she got that right. James was God._

James quickly composed himself, just like he'd practiced over the years. "Don't you give it a second thought, Sweet Cheeks." Using his thumbs, he wiped those errant tears that trickled from her eyes.

"And, forgive me for my outburst earlier. I never should have lost my temper like that. You are the sexiest server they've got here, and don't let anyone tell you any differently." He looked down at his soaked trousers, "But, I guess I really should excuse myself." He looked across the table at Edward, Jasper and Emmett, "Boys."

Rae couldn't take her eyes off of that giant wet spot in the front of his pants. James placed the pads of his index and middle fingers of his right hand underneath Rae's chin and lifted it up. He winked, then he smiled at her, "All better now?"

_Featherhead. Squaw. _

Rae was such an accepting soul herself, and she was thankful that he'd forgiven her. She smiled right back.

Then he looked at Jasper, "I'll take a rain check on that Molson you owe me."

xXx

**Friday, April 2**

Thursday night was sinfully wonderful for the three friends, Alice, Rosalie and Isabella as they danced and sang at the tops of their lungs to the sounds of _Mentor_, an indie band that had quite a loyal following not only at Seattle's hot-spot See Sound Lounge, but along the west coast. After a few cocktails, Isabella spent most of the night shamelessly flirting with the fuckhot lead guitarist that rocked her world-if only from afar.

But, morning had arrived, and it was time for Isabella to face the music. Her six o'clock alarm rang way too early. She hit the snooze button. The alarm sounded again. And again. And again.

Isabella didn't even realize that she'd turned it off completely, because when she was startled awake by the chirp of a text message on her Blackberry, she was panicked to see that it was already past 8:00.

She bolted out of bed, and with her Blackberry in hand, she ran to fetch a fresh towel out of the linen closet. She'd jump in the shower as soon as she opened up that text. Although Isabella didn't recognize the number on her screen, she didn't give it a second thought. She opened the message.

**Private Caller: "Where are you?"**

She was curious at the fact that there was a jpeg attachment. Someone sent her a picture. With the gentle touch of her index finger, she moved the roller ball on her Blackberry, and without a second thought, she clicked on that attachment.

Like she always did.

Like everyone always does.

Like Laurent and James knew she would.

Just like the Greeks knew that the people of Troy would gladly accept that horse-"The Trojan Horse."

And when Isabella clicked on the link, she saw a picture of herself, drinking wine in the cellar at TPC. It was an innocent enough picture, but the very fact that the motherfucker had taken pictures of her-presumably from his cell phone-infuriated her.

So she sent a few text messages right back; in rapid succession.

**Isabella M. Swan, Esq.: Listen, u sick fuck.**

**Isabella M. Swan, Esq.: I am over ur games.**

**Isabella M. Swan, Esq.: Leave me the fuck alone or**

**Isabella M. Swan, Esq.: I will hunt u down, cut off your balls and toss them in The SOUND.**

And, with those gratifying messages, Isabella sat her phone on the counter, and took a swift, but steaming-hot shower.

After towel drying her hair, Isabella pulled her damp locks into a French twist. It was a style that she wore well, which was a good thing, because she didn't have time for her usual blow-dry. Isabella completed her classic look with black mascara and chose the Russian Red lip glass by Mak.

Isabella was classy, yet empowered.

Choosing the first thing she saw in her closet, a Chanel suit, where the skirt hit just above the knee, Isabella smiled at the coincidence that her French twist was paired with an outfit from a French designer. She completed her look with one of Alice's ivory lace shells, and stepped into a pair of zebra print Christian Louboutin's.

As she headed out the door, she reached for her phone and was reminded of that earlier text.

_Perhaps if given the opportunity, she'd squish Bruce's balls under those same spiked heels._

She smiled.

And then she scowled, because she saw she had another text from Bruce.

**Private Caller: "I will listen to you." **

…were Bruce's words in his latest message. And, he'd sent another photo, which of course Isabella had to see. And so she clicked on the image…just like she'd done before…just like James and Laurent knew she would.

An image of her lying naked, on the recliner in the Cigar Room, filled her screen. Isabella saw the photograph and couldn't imagine how he could have taken a full body shot of her without her knowing. And the angle…? Something just didn't seem right, but there it was, on her screen.

_The man to whom she gave her virginity, the man who at the time she thought she'd actually trust enough to keep her armor at bay, had taken pictures of her. Naked._

She wasn't embarrassed or afraid. She was volcanically angry. And so Isabella tapped out one simple message to "Bruce."

**Isabella M. Swan, Esq.: "Last straw."**

And, she meant it. This latest text, or more precisely the picture of her naked, was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Isabella would bend every effort to track down "Bruce Wayne". She'd start by calling the Harborview Hematology Department. She would find out who had "bought" her in the auction. There was bound to be a credit card slip or receipt for a check.

Isabella was nothing if not resourceful. She'd just settled a $75 million dollar case the day before, for crying out loud. Certainly she could track down the scum that wore the Batman mask.

Just as Isabella walked into the stairwell her phone rang. "Private Caller" appeared on her screen. She touched the green button on her phone and said just two words, "Game on." Without waiting for a response, she ended the call, pleased to get the last word.

As she walked out her door heading to her car, Isabella muttered under her breath, "And, make no mistake, I will win."

And, of course, James heard every word.

He zoomed in on the Google map, and watched her as she walked through the parking garage of her building. The screen glowed against his face in his darkened apartment. James's eyes followed Ivy's "blip" on the map, as she drove away in her car, block by block.

James watched Ivy as she appeared as a blip moving on a Google map, which shown on the screen of his Droid. He listened as she popped a CD in her car stereo. James was amused as Ivy sang off key to music that he didn't recognize. She stopped for four red lights along the way.

Ivy called her assistant Lauren, told her she was on her way, and that she would be in her office for that nine o'clock meeting with Tyler. James also heard when Lauren told Ivy about the recently scheduled lunch appointment with Edward Cullen. After the call was disconnected, Ivy spat off a few expletives.

James heard every word. He fired off a few choice words of his own.

_Fucking Edward Cullen._

But, even the mention of Edward's name couldn't sully James's giddy mood. He could hear everything she said and he could track Ivy within a distance of six inches.

What Isabella didn't know, was that by clicking on those attachments within those texts, by opening those files, she opened the gate. She invited those Trojan horses right into her life.

James smiled. He was content. He recalled the conversation he'd had with his brother the night before when Laurent pulled alongside James's car as it idled in the shadows of Isabella's building awaiting her return. James rolled down his car window.

Laurent's French accented words sang through the air, "Brother, let us go to your apartment. I have a surprise for you that will allow you to watch her every move and hear every word that the girl makes."

Once the two brothers were in the private confines of James's apartment, Laurent handed his brother a Verizon Droid. He explained that the phone was purchased in Amsterdam, and the local number that appeared was routed through a complicated web of servers dotted across the world, and ultimately untraceable.

Laurent explained that James would need to send two separate texts with executable jpeg files. The files contained malware programs, which would be activated within her phone the second Isabella clicked on the images. The first Trojan contained a GPS locater application that "stole" the unique ESN number of her mobile phone and communicated her GPS coordinates directly to James's internet browser on his Verizon Droid.

James was so engrossed as he played with the device, that his brother's explanation of "GPS technology" mindlessly rolled past his ears.

Laurent prattled on about the fact that GPS technology had been a United States federal requirement after the events of 9-11. By 2005, every mobile device sold in America was required to contain global positioning technology. The same "GPS tracking technology" was already being used by some corporations to maintain exact locations of their field employees "for situational awareness."

Whatever the hell that meant.

Most cellular plans offer similar packages to parents as they "watch" their children on the same Google maps, through their linked mobile phones.

Laurent simply tweaked the technology, and he found a way for his brother James to track his obsession, and keep his temper at bay. And that very fact alone, keeping James under control so he wouldn't blow either of their covers, was worth every hour that Laurent had invested.

The second "Trojan" was perhaps even more sinister, as it wrote a "hot mic" malware program on her mobile device's memory. The purpose of James's phone call, was that it was a necessary step in order to execute the program and "activate" the external mic on her phone. When James called Bella, and she ended that call, the microphone on her phone would remain on.

Constantly.

And, James would hear every single word she said.

xXx

The moment Isabella walked out of the elevator and onto her floor, Tyler's new assistant, rushed to her side. "Isabella, you're the woman of the hour, I hear! Tyler wanted me to catch you before you got settled. He is waiting for you in the conference room."

_So much for her morning cup of coffee…._

This day, of all days, what with the texts from Bruce, and the fact that she was operating on fewer than four hours of sleep, Isabella needed an infusion of caffeine. But, the boss was waiting-in all of his sexist, sexual-harassing, beer-gutted glory.

She rounded the corner, and could clearly see what awaited her through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the board room. It wasn't just Tyler that anticipated her arrival. It appeared to be the majority of the attorneys as well as some of the "brass" from the executive suite. They were all gathered around the oak conference table, waiting for…her.

_What a day to be late._

Isabella cringed at the thought, and then she smirked when she remembered why everyone was gathered. She had single-handedly won a $75 million dollar settlement against the Baltimore Orioles. The executive team would have been elated for her to win half that.

When she entered the room, Tyler stood, the pig actually stood, and started clapping, and he was quickly joined by everyone. "Thanks, everyone," Isabella offered, as she made a point to make eye contact with everyone in the room. And, then she spotted the gallon-sized cardboard containers of coffee from Zoka, as they sat invitingly, on the sideboard.

And suddenly, her day became even brighter. "Thanks so much for this…everyone. But, what I really need right now is a strong cup of coffee." And, with her confident, but appropriately humble demeanor, the room was lighter-even with all that shiny brass.

It seemed that word traveled fast. Even though the settlement was "sealed," the details of what transpired had already made their way across the country. Apparently, a reporter from the _Baltimore Sun_ got the inside scoop from an Orioles source, and interviewed some sources from Pickles Pub, and the story was published in Baltimore's leading newspaper.

Tyler handed Isabella a copy of the piece that his assistant had found on the internet.

**ORIOLES LOSE BIG TO LONE SHARK**

…read the headline in the Sun. Isabella smiled at that reference. She would read the article the second she was alone in her office. Isabella was suddenly fielding questions from every corner of the room.

"Is it true that you went to a bar and talked to O's staffers?"

"I heard that you actually got them drunk and they spilled their guts like school girls."

"I saw a news clip online that said….."

She was bombarded with questions that ranged from truth to absurdity. This was a scene that, in her year with the Mariners, Isabella had never witnessed. But, then again, it was the highest settlement ever to come into the Mariners program.

As if some unheard timer rang, her fellow staffers offered their congratulations and headed on their way. This was a legal team, after all.

Isabella offered her sincere thanks to everyone as they left, and when she reached for the Vice President's hand to shake goodbye, he said, "Actually, Isabella, I was hoping to have a word with you in private. Your office, perhaps?"

When Tyler stood up to join them, Isabella was taken aback to hear the vice president say, "Actually, Tyler, I wish to speak to Ms. Swan alone."

The look on Tyler's face was priceless. He looked like a little girl who'd just been turned away from the popular table at school. It was all Isabella could do to maintain a straight face, and she recovered quite nicely. "Tyler, if you need to go over some more details, I would be happy to meet…."

But, Tyler was quick to cut her off, as he was in self-preservation mode himself. He made a point to look down at his gaudy, out of style, Rolex, "Actually, I'm expected on a conference call." He reached out and shook Isabella and Mr. Greene's hands.

The first thing that went through Isabella's mind, as she walked out of the board room with the vice president, was whether or not she'd tidied her desk before she had flown to Baltimore. She managed to smile as she composed herself, and replied, "Certainly, Mr. Greene. My office is right this way,"

He was a true gentleman, holding the door for her as he spoke, "I think you've earned the right to call me Harold." He returned her smile.

Isabella walked over to her chair, and she pretended to organize a stack of papers on her desk as she stood. There was no way she was sitting first. That lesson was taught in "Organizational Awareness 101." She kept busying herself, because Mr. Greene took his time as he lingered next to her credenza, and perused her numerous bar certificates.

"Impressive, Isabella," and then he finally sat down.

"Thanks, sir, you never know where a case will lead," Isabella responded truthfully.

"And, that's exactly why I've asked to speak with you, Isabella. The very fact that you are the only attorney who took the initiative to get boarded in Maryland," he pointed at her wall of Bar certificates, "as well as, what is it, ten, fifteen other states…shows initiative beyond anything else I've seen here in a long time."

"Why thank you..," Isabella began to say. But, again, her words were cut short.

"Hold your thanks until the end." Harold grinned a toothy Cheshire cat smile at her.

"The point is, Isabella, what you did in Baltimore, showed a combination of talent, instinct and guts. You not only stepped out of the box, you entered an entirely new plane, and because of that, the Mariners organization is $75 million dollars richer." He offered another genuine chuckle. "Now, the team manager and the coaches would argue that they got the better end of the settlement, with those players brought to the team."

"The executive leadership team met this morning, Isabella. It's no secret that this monetary settlement is the largest the Mariners organization has ever won. We'd like you to know that we appreciate your efforts, your tenacity, your commitment to the team," and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Mr. Greene leaned across her desk and handed Isabella the envelope, "Go ahead. Open it."

And she did.

And, when Isabella had to count those zeros a second time, she was certain her mouth fell agape, "Sir, this is…quite…generous…I never expected…."

But, Mr. Greene was quick to interject, "We are giving you this $150,000 bonus, with one condition…that this remains confidential."

"Of course. Please pass along my sincere thanks to everyone who made this possible." She heartily shook Mr. Greene's hand like she'd won the lottery.

And truth be told, she did.

Isabella escorted Mr. Greene out of her office, again offering her appreciation. When he was safely down the hall, Isabella shut her door, and took that check in her hand, screamed silently, and proceeded to jumped up and down.

Spiked heels and all.

xXx

Edward Cullen left his houseboat at 6:00 in the morning and headed to his office. With none of his staff in the office to hinder his progress, he found he was able to concentrate unencumbered as he made the changes to Jacob Black's contract.

He found it interesting that he was not only willing, but actually happy to meet Isabella's demands in regards to Jacob Black's contract negotiation. Edward knew that although he wouldn't have the "live" contract ready for Isabella's signature, his efforts would be a sign of good faith when he met her in her office for lunch.

Edward was more than intrigued with Isabella, as she was the most worthy opponent he had faced in a long time. He had resorted to some questionable measures last night, and he was determined to get back on positive ground.

There was, after all, a lot at stake. The Mariners team management was chomping at the bit to sign Jacob Black, but Edward knew that many a deal that died on the boardroom table due to failed contract negotiations. He wasn't about to let that happen with this deal.

And, he certainly didn't want it to get back to Jacob Black that he had attempted to railroad a deal through disreputable tactics. He wasn't sure if Jacob still carried a torch for Isabella or not, but one thing was certain, the two were loyal to each other.

Isabella had poignantly stated her demands. She wanted an extra year added onto Black's contract. This would arguably benefit the Mariners more than it would Jacob, especially if he continued to perform at the top of his game like he had with the Yankees. However, because Isabella insisted that he cut his sports agent percentage in half, Jacob would actually be pocketing more in the long run.

Indeed, Isabella Swan was a beautiful woman with a brilliant mind, and Edward Cullen admitted to himself that he had underestimated her. He wouldn't make that same mistake twice.

His employees began to filter in at 7:45, and Edward chose to shut his door, rather than participate in idle chatter that would hinder his progress. His punctual, though prattling assistant, Jessica, buzzed his intercom at exactly 8:00.

She popped her gum into the handset. "Edward, is there anything you need this morning. I contacted Lauren last night, and you're all set for your twelve o'clock over at Safeco with Ms. Swan. I mentioned that you were bringing lunch. Do you need me to help with that?"

"No, thanks, Jessica. I've got everything covered in that respect. In just a few moments, I'll be emailing you the revised contract for the Black-Mariners deal. I've included instructions for you, but if you can get me those first two copies right away, I'd appreciate it."

The rest of the morning raced by. Edward was successful in securing a face-to-face meeting with Reebok. As soon as Jacob Black signed on the dotted line, effectively making him an "official" Seattle Mariner, Edward would be ready to watch it rain money.

But, Edward had to get that signature first. Before there would be any deal with Reebok, Isabella had to sign on the dotted line. And, after last night, it certainly wasn't a lock. Knowing he had effectively "ruined" dinner last night, causing Isabella to walk out as the entrée's were served, Edward was determined to get back in her good graces.

She'd ordered fish the night before, so that was his first clue as to what he would arrange for lunch. His goal was to impress. And he knew just the person to call.

**xXx**

Edward left his office at 11:00, picked up lunch, and made it to the Mariners' corporate offices with five minutes to spare.

Lauren buzzed Isabella's intercom, "Mister Cullen is here for your twelve o'clock."

"Thanks, Lauren. Can you ask him to come on in?" Isabella's voice was calm, but truth be told, this was the last thing she wanted to do for lunch. She had a phone call to make – namely one to Harborview. But, she knew that the Mariner's were eager to sign Jacob, and actually, because of Edward Cullen's arrogance, both the Mariners' and Jacob Black would end up benefiting in the long run. The only one who stood to "lose" in this deal was Edward himself.

And that gave her a small slice of satisfaction.

Edward entered Isabella's office with an air of confidence. He had a tanned saddle-leather portfolio in one hand, and a bag that contained lunch in the other. Edward walked over to Isabella's desk, and hesitated. "May I?" He asked before he set the bag on top and began unveiling its contents.

He appeared to have a sheepish, yet confident smile on his face, "Thanks for meeting me, Isabella. I'd like to apologize for last night. I've made the changes to the contract, but Jacob still has to sign before we can move forward. I brought you the draft, so you'll have a chance to review it in the meanwhile."

Isabella reached out and accepted the stack of papers that Edward handed her. She wasn't expecting this. Had he actually made the revisions?

She was about to speak, when Edward interjected, "I've brought a peace offering of sorts. I figured since you ordered fish last night, that you might enjoy Dahlia's signature dish. Hopefully you like ahi tuna….?" Edward placed the seared specialty first in front of Isabella, and then reached in the bag for his portion.

Isabella had a look of disbelief on her face, "But the Dahlia Lounge isn't open for lunch."

Edward knew he'd impressed her. The Dahlia Lounge was known throughout Seattle for their signature seared ahi tuna, and it most definitely was never open at this time of day.

"You're right. Let's just say I called in a few favors." He made a lame attempt to mimic Marlon Brando from _The Godfather_, "I do a favah for you today… and someday, I will ask for a favah in return."

And they both laughed at Edward's horrible Mafioso impersonation.

The tension in the air was lifted. Their conversation became light and effortless. The afternoon sun blazed in the western sky. The sun's warmth radiated through the windows, and neither Edward nor Isabella recognized when their conversation became so light that their bodies actually began to lean into one another from across her desk.

_Their body language screamed what their conscious minds had yet to ascertain. _

Neither of them realized just how close they had once been-that the one night of masked passion they had shared was real and unwavering.

As they finished their lunches, Edward couldn't take his mind off the woman sitting across from him. There was something familiar about Isabella that he just couldn't place. She just felt "right." Isabella was tenacious, intelligent but not overbearing, witty, and she was, well, in a word…striking.

She was not the "Ice Princess" that had been portrayed in the _Sports Illustrated_ article. Oh, Isabella Swan more than held her own, as evidenced by that $75 million deal that had been the talk of the industry all morning…not to mention her reaction to his folly last night.

_But, that was water under the bridge. He'd apologized and she'd accepted. _

"Thanks again for everything, Isabella. For having lunch with me, for letting me make up for last night. I was wondering what your plans were…?" But before he could continue, Edward was interrupted by the obnoxious buzz of the intercom on Isabella's desk.

He was going to ask Isabella what her plans were for tomorrow. He was going to ask her to join him as he tested a new sailboat on Puget Sound. Edward had never taken a woman sailing before, and he thought that Isabella would enjoy the exhilaration of the wind and the water.

He knew he would most definitely enjoy her company.

The intercom buzzed again. It was Lauren. "Isabella? Sorry to bother you, but there's a delivery for you. The tag reads 'Deliver upon Receipt'. Should I go ahead and send the delivery boy in?"

Lauren didn't sound sorry at all. Instead, her nasally voice sounded irritated at having to deal with another intrusion, rather than concerned at interrupting Isabella's lunch meeting.

"No worries. Send him in." Isabella was actually more than a little curious to see what other spoils of war were being sent her way since she'd won the Orioles case.

Truth be told, she was a little excited to share whatever it was with Edward.

_Maybe it was something from 'Harry and David' or even Ghirardelli chocolates…. _As if instructed by someone who knew not only the most opportune time of delivery, but the exact layout of her office, the boy placed the box on Isabella's credenza, below her framed diplomas and Bar certificates.

Isabella's eyes widened when the boy opened the box and unveiled an overflowing "edible bouquet" of skewered chocolate-covered strawberries. The afternoon sun was warm as it shone through Isabella's window. Like a spotlight on the theatre stage, the sunbeam lit up the crystal vase that was now centered on her credenza.

As instructed, the delivery boy balanced the 5x7 lime green note card against the twinkling vase that contained her bouquet. With no envelope to mask the sentiment, the words on the card screamed like a neon sign for all to see:

**/\\\**

**.**

_**I,**_

_**Something delicious,**_

_**for**_

_**Someone decadent.**_

_**.**_

_**Your Hero,**_

_**B.**_

_**.**_

**\\\/**

Edward pretended to be happy for Isabella. After all, she had received such a thoughtful gift. He realized he hadn't congratulated her, "Great job on that $75 million settlement. I heard they're calling you the 'rainmaker' around here."

And, just then, just when Isabella was about to respond, she heard the tell-tale chirp of her Blackberry, signaling a new text message. She plucked her mobile phone off of her desk, and saw that it was Bruce.

Although she knew she should wait until Edward left, something inside Isabella compelled her to see his latest attempt to either scare her, intimidate her or both. She held up her finger, as if to ask Edward to wait a moment.

The subject line included just one word, "Decadent." There was a file attached - - another photo.

Isabella opened up the attachment and she saw the image of a single, ripe strawberry, speared with a two-pronged serpent's fork. The luscious crimson strawberry was dripping in chocolate…or was it…?

_Is that…blood?_

Edward cleared his throat, having become uncomfortable with the silence. Isabella looked his way, but appeared to stare right through him.

Her lackluster acknowledgment of his compliment clued Edward in that it was time for him to leave.

Edward couldn't help stealing another glance at that card that stood next to the strawberry display. From the tenor of the note, there was no mistaking that the chocolate covered strawberries were from someone with whom Isabella had a close and intimate relationship.

_But who the fuck calls himself "Hero?"_

No matter, because the _fucking hero_ was obviously fucking Isabella.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

**End Notes:**

So, if you are still reading this, and didn't give up on me after my prolonged absence, let me just shout it from the rooftop, THANK YOU! I won't let that happen again.

For everyone who reviews this chapter, let's just say I'll make it worth your wait. As always, you'll get an epic review reply, with a teaser and insight that is longer than most author's entire chapters (just sayin'), and I will send you some red hot RobPorn, including a real crotch shot that my beta sent me.

Oh, and I'll include that fucked up bloody strawberry picture, so you can text it to your enemies along with a Trojan Horse of your very own. By the way, all of the stalkerish fuckery that Laurent and James send Isabella's way…is absolutely real and possible. I bet you'll think twice before opening up a text again. And, like that lame song from The Carpenters, "It's only just begun."

Oh, and if you aren't already reading "The Bargain" by Ironic Twist, then stop what you are doing and give this historical piece a read. You'll get lots of instant gratification (aka sexy times), plus she posts twice a week, and the story will wrap up in the fall. I love it, and I think you will too.

.net/s/6072577/1/The_Bargain

**xXx**

**To Kristine, my beta, thank you for not giving up on me.**

**To MK, MR and LD – thanks for keeping my spirits up by throwing rocks at my window late at night when you see me writing…**

**And to rz93, thank you for quieting me and for helping me find my way.**


	9. Membership and Privilege

_**Disclaimer: The brilliant Stephenie Meyer is the creator and owner of the Twilight Saga and the phenomenal characterizations within. **_

_**No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**All other references to real world names, entities and material goods belong to those respective owners.**_

_**The plot is original and it's mine. **_

xXx

This chapter is dedicated to you, the reader.

Although I have taken an insanely long time to update, you are somehow still here with me. I promise to finish this story. It's complete…in my head at least. I think you'll like how the tangled web -every bit of it - connects in the end.

Special thanks to my friend and beta Kristine, because you rock my world, and you continue to inspire me.

Thanks to my real life lawyer friends, and amazing women, J and M.

J has been my best friend since high school and her shingle hangs in Phoenix, Arizona. M is my friend and neighbor who is a corporate attorney in Fairfax, Virginia. They help me keep Isabella's legal wrangling accurate and intricate.

xXx

_Since it's been so long that I have posted, I am including a recap of The Agent and the Esquire. You can skip ahead to the real chapter if you like…._

The Agent and the Esquire – Recap:

Edward is a sports lawyer/agent who along with representing his designated-hitter cousin, Emmett McCarty, is one of the most successful sports agents in the country. Isabella Swan is a corporate attorney for the Seattle Mariners. She's brilliant, brazen and beautiful, but keeps most people at a distance. Isabella and her closest friend, Alice, who is a costume designer at 5th Avenue Theatre, attend a charity masquerade ball at The Players Club (TPC), which is co-owned by Edward, Emmett and Jasper.

Isabella attended the ball as a painted Poison Ivy, with air ivy leaves and vines airbrushed in all the right places. Alice was a painted Catwoman.

Edward, who wore a Batman mask, was the successful bidder in an auction, and for $150,000, won a "drink and a dance" with Isabella. Jasper, dressed in his tuxedo as The Penguin, won Alice. The night for both couples began with a dance, led to heated passion, and ended with no names, no numbers…and no regrets.

The antagonist, James, another sports agent, albeit a bottom feeder, wanted Isabella for himself. In his sick and twisted mind, Isabella "is" Poison Ivy. He tried to win her in that auction, but Edward outbid him. James will stop at nothing to make "Ivy" his own. Laurent (James's step brother, a fact which the two of them have successfully kept secret), is the security manager at TPC. He gave the video feed from the TPC cellar and Cigar Bar to James. Angela is a photographer with the Seattle Times, and James broke into her computer and burned a copy of the pictures she took that night. He's been sending images to Isabella, and signing the name "Bruce", in an attempt to make Isabella think that it is "Batman" who is stalking her.

Rosalie is a psychologist, and she and Emmett are dating, but have been keeping their relationship to themselves, because neither wants their friends to interfere. Rose promises she will introduce her mystery man to Isabella and Alice on opening night of the next play opening in just a few weeks at 5th Avenue.

Isabella just returned from a trip to Baltimore, where she successfully won a $75 million dollar out-of-court settlement against the Baltimore Orioles. She brought back not only the cash, but returned seven "training camp" players back to the Mariners. Her efforts earned her a hefty bonus, and buzz throughout the industry.

James is getting more obsessed with Ivy by the minute. One night when he loses track of Ivy, James panics. Laurent remembers what trouble his brother got in when they lived in Canada, and he doesn't want James to go off the deep end and thus "out" them both. Laurent obtains an untraceable cell phone for James, who successfully sends Trojan Horse malware to Isabella's mobile phone. He can now track her Blackberry by GPS, and knows her every move. The external mic on her phone is always "on", and James can hear everything picked up by the "hot mic."

We were introduced to a few new characters, including marine biology students Brett Warner and TPC waitress Renes Me (Rae) Redfox. Rae, a Native American, is single. Brett, the bartender, is romantically involved with Seth Clearwater, who is soon-to-be-signed with the Mariners. No one except Rae is aware of Brett and Seth's relationship.

James's strong hand and thirst for control was evident in front of Edward, Jasper and Emmett when he became belligerent and caused a scene when Rae gave him the "wrong" beer. He'd wanted a Molson (actually an important fact to remember.) Rae accidentally spilled the beer on James's lap, which brought back James's memories of when he was a teenager and he was still wetting the bed. (Yeah, think psychopath right about here.)

Tanya, who works at 5th Avenue Theatre with Alice, is actually a member of a professional roller derby team, the Rat City Rollergirls. With her strawberry blond hair and green eyes, Tanya is bribed by James to play the part of Poison Ivy. Tanya's orders are to dress the part, take Alice with her to TPC, and make her move on Edward Cullen so that Edward will stay far away from Isabella. Alice, who has been aching to reconnect with Jasper, will be indebted because she sees Tanya as her ticket to destiny.

We've learned why Isabella is so closed off, and why she so effectively builds walls around her. Isabella's need to protect herself derived from a myriad of reasons: She has a flighty and reckless mother (Renee), who Isabella felt didn't give a damn about her; she has a father who was so far away that he wasn't close enough to play a part in her life; she had a high school boyfriend (Austin) who she was made to believe abandoned her by his manipulative parents; and subsequently an entire high school that blamed her when Austin left, thereby causing them to lose the state championship.

While in Baltimore, Isabella ran into Austin and learned that he never stopped loving her. She convinced him to finally let it go, and told him that what happened in the past was what helped shape her. Austin's tattoo of a swan touched Isabella, and she decided to get a tattoo of her own. She came home with a tattoo of a wilted ivy leaf above her heart. This was an exact replica of what Marcus painted on her breast the night of the ball…the night Isabella was a painted Poison Ivy. 

Isabella overcame life's obstacles and became one of the most sought after corporate sports attorneys in Major League Baseball. Her former boyfriend, Jacob Black, is being traded to the Mariners, and Isabella and Edward Cullen got into a sparring match regarding the contract negotiation. Isabella walked out of her dinner meeting with Edward.

In an effort to show good faith that he is going to "do the right thing" by Jacob Black, Edward made changes to Jacob's contract and arranged to bring Isabella lunch in her office the next day. Edward and Isabella felt a connection, but just as Edward was going to ask Isabella out on a sailing date, Isabella received an ominous delivery consisting of a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries. The ominous note revealed that the strawberries are from "Bruce" (Batman).

The bouquet is the last straw for Isabella, as she is more than annoyed after having received an ivy plant in her office, photographs delivered to her hotel in Baltimore, text images sent to her phone, and then the bouquet of strawberries. She vowed to find out who "Bruce" is and put an end to his threatening ways.

And, now…without further ado….

**..xxXxx..**

**Chapter 9 - Membership and Privilege**

With Edward in such close proximity, Isabella hid her anger as she tapped the red button on her Blackberry and closed out the image that Bruce just sent to her. At least it wasn't naked pictures of her this time.

_But, a bloody strawberry? What the fuck? _

_And, Isabella would be tossing that bloody bouquet in the trash, too._

"_Something delicious, for someone decadent. – Your Hero, B." read the note._

Someone decadent? Isabella's stomach turned as she remembered that night at the Maskorade Ball. How in the world could Isabella have made such a lapse in judgment? The one man who had penetrated her armor…the one man whom Isabella deemed worthy enough for her - he wasn't worth the time it was going to take her to track him down, and cut him down to size.

Initially, Alice and she were going to throw caution to the wind and try to find the men whom they'd met that night. They had both danced with destiny, or at least that was what Isabella thought. That was before everything that Bruce had put her through. Isabella wouldn't touch "Bruce" with a ten foot pole now, but she didn't want to stand in the way of true love. Alice would still pursue her Penguin. Tanya was going to use her status as a Rat City Rollergirl, and get Alice into TPC that very night.

While Alice was dreaming about her happily ever after, Isabella was devising a plan to put Bruce's cock in a vise. It wouldn't take long for Alice and Jasper to grind to their own beat on the dance floor of The Players Club.

Isabella would do some grinding of her own.

She'd grind her stilettos straight into Bruce's balls.

"_Bastard," _Isabella thought. God. She hoped that she hadn't said that out loud.

She wanted to explain to Edward that she had no clue who "B" was, but you'd better believe she was going to find out. Maybe she should ask Edward. He would know. He was one of the most successful sports lawyers "slash" sports agents in the industry. Edward Cullen also owned The Players Club, for crying out loud. If he didn't know who Batman was, he could certainly find out.

No.

She wouldn't involve Edward. And, she wouldn't involve Alice, either, although surely her Penguin would know how to find "Bruce."

She'd fight this battle herself. That auction raised money for charity, and there would certainly be a paper trail. Isabella would make that call to the Harborview Hematology department the moment that Edward left her office. Isabella would ask who bid on her. Isabella was far from impressed that "Bruce" had spent $150,000 in order to "win" her. And, once you thought about it, if he had that much to blow on her, he had far more than that to lose.

Yes. Isabella would put an end to this depravity once and for all.

She placed her Blackberry on the corner of her desk, but Isabella must have exerted a little too much emotion behind that action, because the "clunk" was loud enough to pull Edward's attention away as he glared at the bouquet and note that "Hero" sent.

_Someone's pissed her off._

That's more like the Isabella that Edward saw last night - the woman who walked out the door of Poppy when Edward tried some admittedly questionable tactics in an effort to get her to sign Jacob Black's contract.

_The "Ice Princess" rears her pretty head… _

That wasn't fair. And, not true at all. Lunch with her had been…pleasant; effortless, actually. As a matter of fact, he would have asked her to join him as he took a new sailboat for a test voyage on the Sound if it hadn't been for the fact that she was otherwise…involved.

_Yeah. With a hard-on who called himself "Hero."_

Edward's and Isabella's eyes met in uncomfortable silence. He shifted his weight. She twirled a lock of hair. Isabella had taken her hair down from its French twist prior to her lunch meeting with Edward. She was certain she'd caught Edward staring.

And, yes, he had noticed.

There was something in the air in that room. They both felt it.

It was confusing for both of them, actually, to feel this way about someone, when, at least for Edward, he was still hoping to find the woman he met at the ball. "Poison Ivy" was unlike any other woman he had been with.

Edward had searched for Ivy and he came up empty handed. She was the first woman in a long time to hold his interest…that is until Isabella Swan came along.

As for Isabella, it was a different kind of struggle. That same "clenching of her stomach" that she was feeling right that very moment, was similar to how she'd felt when she was with Batman that night. She'd thought he was a gentleman. She'd craved his touch. But instead of being the hero, Batman had turned out to be the villain.

How could she have been so wrong about him? Was Isabella's judge in character warped after all those years of being closed off to the possibility of love?

Edward began to walk toward her. Isabella leaned forward as if to lessen the distance.

BUZZ! BUZZZZZZZ!

Their silent musings were interrupted by the annoying sound of Isabella's intercom.

Isabella wasn't amused. Lauren understood very well that she was in a meeting – a meeting with Edward Cullen, no less. She was not to be disturbed. It wasn't surprising, though. Lauren didn't possess a single ounce of respect for Isabella and tried to undermine her at every turn.

Isabella was well aware of that fact.

_Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…._

"Yes, Lauren? Can't this wait?" Isabella's words were clipped and sharp. She wasn't going to afford Lauren any latitude.

Lauren was quick to respond in her typical spiteful tone, "Actually, no, it can't. It's Phil Dwyer. He says it's urgent that you call him."

Isabella rolled her eyes.

Not at Phil, but at the fact that most likely her mother, Renee, had – yet again - gotten herself involved in something she shouldn't have.

Renee had lived life on the edge before she met and married Phil Dwyer, a professional baseball player with the Arizona Diamondbacks. Where she once worked for a pittance as a waitress at a country club, her mother now lived a life of privilege and was a member of that very club.

_What had Renee done this time? _

"Edward, I am sorry. It'll only take a moment, if you don't mind waiting?" Isabella offered a hopeful look.

Edward took one more glance at that note on the credenza from Isabella's boyfriend, and figured it was time to leave.

"Actually, I really need to get going." Edward walked over to Isabella and looked straight into her alluring brown eyes. The sun was shining through the glass at the perfect angle.

He thought he saw flecks of gold in her eyes. He felt he'd seen those eyes before, not last night, but sometime before, he just couldn't place it. _He wanted to stay._

"Thank you, Isabella for having lunch with me. It's been a pleasure, truly.

"I know we need to finalize Jacob Black's contract. The Mariners also intend to sign a new client of mine, Seth Clearwater. I am hoping we can kill two birds with one stone, and take care of both contracts together."

Isabella didn't want to take Phil's phone call because quite frankly she didn't want Edward to leave. Suddenly, she processed what Edward had just said.

_Edward signed Seth as a client? The Mariners were bringing another member of Jacob's tribe onto the team? _

"Seth? Clearwater?" Isabella paused between the first and last names. "He's a friend of Jacob's."

Edward nodded, "I thought you might know him. Seth called me a couple of days ago. Jacob told him about the Cullen Agency, and I actually just met him this morning to sign his rep contract. He seems like a good kid."

Isabella was dumbfounded. Jacob and Seth would both be on the Mariners? "He's a bit younger, but, yes, from what I remember, Seth's quite the athlete."

And then her intercom buzzed again.

Isabella audibly exhaled. She offered a silent apology for the sudden end to this lunch "non date," which was admittedly wonderful.

Edward chuckled, providing relief from the suddenly tense mood, "I think your assistant is going to forcibly extract me from your office if I don't leave right…about…now."

He wanted so badly to touch her, to run his fingers through that long silky hair of hers, but it was obvious she was deeply entrenched in a relationship.

But Edward was observant, and as he took one final look around her office, he noticed not only what was on that card next to the crystal vase, the one from "B-for-Bastard" no less, but he was also keenly aware of what wasn't in her office. Sure, there were diplomas, bar certificates, awards, but nothing personal. There were no photographs of friends or family - - not even the obligatory 5x7 framed photo of her boyfriend.

He smiled at that fact, reached over, and gently grasped her hand.

She was so warm, so soft, so…familiar.

_And, quite possibly…available._

"Thanks again. And, since I behaved myself so well, why don't we sign everything over dinner? Say…on Monday? I'll have my assistant call your assistant?" Edward smiled his crooked smile, cocked one of his eyebrows, and awaited an answer.

Isabella didn't have time to process Edward's words, because just as he opened the door to leave, Lauren was right there in Isabella's face, telling her Phil had called again, and this time he was waiting on line two.

Isabella's words were rushed, "Sure, Edward, that sounds great."

_Wait, did he just ask me to dinner? Business. Just business._

xXx

She watched as he walked down the hallway towards the elevators.

Isabella wasn't sure if Edward was still within earshot, so she made the decision to ignore Lauren, rather than put her in her place. Isabella simply gave her pathetic assistant a look to kill, shut her office door, and walked back to her desk.

She caught sight of that bouquet, and decided Phil could wait just a moment more. Isabella dialed 4-1-1 on her Blackberry. "Seattle, Washington. Harborview Hospital, Hematology Department, please."

She waited for the number. She listened as the automated attendant asked if she wanted to receive a text message of the listing.

The red light of her telephone blinked at her.

_Phil…_

"Text me the number," Isabella said into her phone. She would make that phone call to Hematology the second she hung up with Phil.

Although she was well aware of exactly who was on the line, she answered with her standard greeting, "Isabella Swan speaking."

"Bella? It's uh, Phil. I'm calling about your mother. It's bad, Bella. Really bad. Renee was in an accident. About an hour ago. She's okay…but…." Phil breathed a labored breath that was a mix of relief and fear.

He recounted the events, which Nettie, one of the other player's wives, had relayed to him from the scene. Phil told Isabella that every week, a few of the wives met at Moon Valley Country Club for breakfast. Nettie mentioned that Renee didn't eat much that morning, and "she may have had a few too many mimosas, but Renee said she was all right to drive."

"It's all over the news, Bella. Once it came over the wire that the car was registered to me…well, every station in Phoenix is covering it. The reporters obviously have some inside connections, but the cops aren't telling me a thing. The only information I'm getting now is what they are saying on the television." Fear and panic were palpable in Phil's voice.

Isabella's stomach was in knots and she felt sick. This time her mother was in deep.

"Just tell me what you know. What are the reporters saying?" Isabella knew very well the love-hate relationship that existed between the police and the media.

And, she knew if a story was cleared to air, it was most likely solid.

Phil's voice was noticeably shaken as he told Isabella how Renee had rear-ended a van at a stop light. He told her that Renee wasn't badly injured, but was taken to the hospital to be treated for some minor burns from the airbags.

Isabella tried to offer some sort of consolation. "So, she's okay, right? If she's not hurt, then that's the main thing."

Phil was silent on the other end of the phone.

That's when Isabella realized it wasn't the "main thing" at all.

Isabella's voice went up an octave, but she remained deliberate and calm. "You said mom rear-ended a van. Tell me it was just a little bump. Tell me she didn't injure anyone."

_Please._

The silence on the other end of the phone revealed the grim truth.

And then the quiet became deafening reality. "It doesn't look good, Bella. The car that she hit, I mean, in the van, there were kids, six-year-old twins. According to the news reports, one of them, the boy, is okay. He's just in observation in the ER. But the girl, Bella, she apparently suffered severe injuries, whatever that means. She's in surgery right now. There's no information on the driver, um, I guess the kids' mother. Bella, I just don't know…." Phil buckled under the weight of knowledge and fear, and he was noticeably sobbing.

The fact that her mother was in an accident, was at fault, was drinking, that children were involved, that there was so much more that she didn't know – brought Isabella to tears, too.

Except, Isabella's cries were silent, contained, hidden behind that carefully constructed wall that protected her so well.

Then she breathed in a lungful of air, and let instinct take over. Isabella removed her emotions from the certainty of it all. Her mask morphed into that of the esquire that she wore so well, "What do you need me to do?"

Phil sensed it in her voice. The emotionally detached Isabella was back. "Renee is going to need a really good lawyer this time. The reporters are saying that Arizona has some of the most severe laws in the nation regarding DUI. Because there were serious injuries, Renee's going to be charged with something called 'extreme DUI'.. They are also talking about aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. The reports are saying she is facing mandatory jail time…."

Isabella went to law school in Arizona, passed her first bar in Arizona, and she was well aware of the tactics prosecutors used in DUI cases. Isabella knew that her mother would face no fewer than three criminal charges. The most serious charge would be a class III felony, with the vehicle being the deadly weapon that Renee used to hit that van.

And then it hit Isabella.

"This time! What do you mean, this time? So, you are saying there have been other times?"

Because this was the first time Isabella had heard of Renee getting arrested for driving while intoxicated.

Phil needed Isabella's help. He knew he'd have to come clean. He told her about how Renee had been pulled over twice for drinking and driving, but that no other cars were involved. Apparently, those other times, Renee had dropped Phil's name, and since the arresting officers were D-backs fans, she wasn't charged with DUI.

The first time she was given a ticket for "failure to yield", and the other time, because there were so many witnesses, she was charged with reckless. Renee had to pay a fine, but that was the end of it.

"Bella, please. I don't want her to go to jail." Phil was pleading, hoping for some way to get his wife out of this mess she had created for herself.

Isabella knew very well that this was going to trial. She knew that her mother didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of getting out of it this time by simply paying a fine and having her saint of a husband springing for a few tickets to a Diamondbacks game.

_Not with the injuries, anyway. There would be mandatory jail time._

_If she is convicted, that is…._

Maybe this was the wake-up call that her mother needed to finally grow the hell up.

But, in as much as Isabella wanted her mother to learn her lesson the hard way, Phil's pleading request, "I don't want her to go to jail," was enough to make Isabella act.

She wouldn't do it for Renee, but she would do it for Phil. "You said Renee was drinking. Have the reporters mentioned anything about a breathalyzer, a field sobriety test, or blood alcohol? Anything to that effect?"

Phil thought about it for a moment. "The reporter said the sheriff's office was waiting for her to be cleared by the ER before they could do a blood draw."

Isabella replied in her methodic tone, "Has she been arrested yet? For DUI, for anything at all associated with this accident?"

"No. The paramedics insisted she go by ambulance directly to the hospital," Phil wasn't emotional anymore. He sensed a plan in motion, and he was suddenly in action mode as well.

"Where are you now, Phil?" Isabella had her pen in hand, and was jotting down every idea she could think of about how she might get her mom out of this godforsaken mess.

"I'm here at Paradise Valley Hospital. They've got a television on in the lobby. Right now, ABC news is showing an aerial view of a Maricopa County sheriff's vehicle parked out front of the hospital….She can't handle jail, Bella." Once again, Phil began to falter.

Isabella spoke in her calm, calculated voice, "Listen carefully, and do everything I say."

Isabella proceeded to instruct Phil on exactly what to do to delay Renee's blood draw.

The longer the delay, the lower the blood alcohol level.

It began with Phil's phone call to the hospital administrator promising a major lawsuit should his wife be discharged prematurely. He promised that there would be a media frenzy questioning malpractice if Renee were turned over to the sheriff's office prior to receiving proper medical and diagnostic care for the burns on her hands and forearms, and any other "potential injuries" that she may have suffered during the "_accident."_

The operative word was "accident," because that's all it was. This was an accident until a court of law proved otherwise.

Isabella had connections and would find the best defense attorney in Phoenix. Even though it wasn't her field of expertise, Isabella wanted to be there during the criminal trial…maybe she'd even look over the case beforehand to make sure that no stone was left unturned. If her mom lost this case, there was pretty much a guarantee that a civil case was on the horizon.

_Renee's stupidity could cause Phil to lose everything._

Isabella would have to take a leave of absence, but with that pile of cash that she'd gotten that very morning, money certainly wasn't an issue. And then it hit her. Isabella had yet to take a single vacation or sick day, since she started working for the Mariners nearly a year ago.

It was a rude awakening to her that she'd be using her vacation days defending her mother. Isabella remembered all those times that Alice and Rosalie had begged her to join them for a week, or even for a long weekend. She remembered making excuse after excuse about why she couldn't take a day off.

It was ironic. Isabella was too busy with work to have any free time, and now she'd have to take off work to save her mother's freedom.

x X x

Isabella knew she had to find an attorney for her mother, and the second she hung up with Phil, she called Demetri Skyros. He had recently been named head of the Diamondbacks legal team. He had been so helpful when she interned with the Arizona Diamondbacks while in law school. In all actuality, he was not only her mentor, but had become a personal friend.

He took her call right away. "Congratulations, Isabella! I hear you're the $75 million dollar woman. I hope you're not calling to tell me we're next on your hit list?"

She offered a forced laugh. "Thanks, Demetri, and, no, the Diamondbacks are safe - for now at least. I'm actually calling regarding a personal matter involving my mother, Renee Dwyer. She is married to Phil Dwyer."

"I know them both," Demetri offered.

Isabella cut right to the chase, "She was involved in an accident this morning, and is suspected of driving under the influence. She hasn't been arrested yet, and we are delaying her blood draw for as long as possible, but I expect she will be charged later this afternoon."

Demetri admitted that he was well aware of the situation. He told Isabella that he had watched the events unfold ever since Phil's name was bantered about on the news shows. "As a matter of fact, one of our new staff attorneys left a few minutes ago to catch Phil at the hospital. We want to make sure he doesn't say something he shouldn't to the sheriff or a reporter."

Isabella was relieved that she had a friend who could help. But, she needed more than a friend. She needed help in finding a Johnny Cochran for her mother's defense.

She reiterated to Demetri what he'd already seen on the news. "As you've heard, there were injuries. Apparently, a child is in surgery as we speak. But, what you don't know is that Renee has a history of driving under the influence. She was fortunate enough both times to be arrested by officers who were D-backs fans. She was charged with misdemeanor traffic violations both times."

Demetri interrupted her, "But that won't happen this time. Renee is going to need the best lawyer in Phoenix, and I know just the person. Jason Jenks is a personal friend of mine. Hold the line for a moment while I call him. For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about all of this."

Isabella offered her sincere thanks for his help. She told him that she was grateful that with her mother's history, that Renee hadn't already killed herself or someone else, "Maybe this is the shake up she needs, I don't know. But, we're going to need his help right away with a bail hearing, otherwise Renee will be spending the night in jail."

Demetri was attuned to that very fact. He texted his friend, and asked him to represent Renee Dwyer. He received an immediate response.

**Jenks: Will take case. Still in court. Out in apprx 45 mins.**

**Skyros: Can u get bail hearing for tonight?**

**Jenks: No problem. Judge owes me one. **

**Skyros: I owe you one.**

**Jenks: Yes, you do. Tell the lovely Isabella Swan that we will get bail. No stripes on her mom tonight. **

And, Demetri relayed that exact message, verbatim. Both he and Isabella knew all too well the reputation of the Maricopa County sheriff. He was known for his radical ideas for his "prisoners". Of all the places for Renee to face incarceration, the Maricopa County jail was one of the bleakest in the entire nation.

His rules included having the inmates wear traditional jailhouse black and white striped coveralls - not exactly the privileged Prada that her mother was used to as of late.

But, with a child's life in the balance at that very moment due to her mother's habitual drunk driving, Isabella knew that stripes were exactly what Renee deserved.

xXx

_So…Ivy's mother was a drunk? Shame…. _

James sat in the dim light of his den, swallowed by his outdated, oversized, _naugahyde___chair. It was such a habit for him, sitting in that chair that is, that he was unaware of how uncomfortable it really was. The springs were broken, the padding was matted down, and, whenever he sat on that chair wearing only his briefs, his legs stuck to the vinyl, and he had to peel them off like a Band-Aid from bare skin.

On this muggy April afternoon…it was one of those days.

And, things would only get stickier.

There he sat, wearing nothing but his tighty whities and a tee shirt. He'd been listening and watching Ivy all morning long on his Droid. James watched as the red blip moved along the google map on his screen as Isabella drove to work. He watched as she walked from her car to her office. He zoomed in and could even tell when she walked from one room to another in the offices of Safeco Field.

And, of course, because of that hot mic, he'd heard every word.

He knew about the bonus money. He knew about Edward's visit. He knew that Edward Cullen had signed a new player named Seth Clearwater.

And, he knew for a fact that Edward Cullen wanted to get into Ivy's panties.

_Again._

Over Edward's dead body.

Or hers.

James would make sure Edward fucking Cullen never laid another hand on Ivy. He gripped the arm of the chair, his fingernails dug in so hard, that they made permanent indentations in the vinyl.

James shoved another slice of cold pepperoni pizza into his mouth, as he thought of his plan.

Part one was already in motion. Tanya was on target to take Alice to TPC that night. She had a near replica of the lace dress that Ivy wore the night of the ball. She would be wearing the exact iridescent shoes that his Ivy wore.

The dress. The shoes. The green eyes, the red hair… all of that would lure Edward right into Tanya's arms.

Edward wouldn't know what hit him.

Tanya was well versed on what to say if Alice started asking questions. And, if Edward opened his mouth in protest, she'd stick her tongue down his throat and shut him up.

Part one of the mission was nearly accomplished.

But, part two, now that was more of a challenge.

James knew he had to find a way to throw Ivy off course. He knew that Ivy had the phone number for Harborview Hematology. James was confident that Harborview would protect their benefactor's identities with the same fervor they guarded patient records. The auction was for charity…and every organization that is dependent on the good will of others, knows they must respect their donor's discretion.

But, it was only a matter of time until Ivy used some of her bonus money and hired a private investigator.

James knew he had to act soon. He'd have to find a way to make Ivy believe she'd discovered who the evil Bruce really was.

James would step in and be the knight…the Black Knight in shining armor that would come to her rescue. When Ivy came face to face with the devil himself…James would be there to save her. She would run straight to him.

But, first, James needed to find a way to get up close and personal with Ivy. He'd first be a business associate, then he would become her friend, and then…her savior. She'd never suspect a thing.

Yes, that's it…a friend.

And, Seth Clearwater was key.

As a professional baseball player, Seth would be presented membership into The Players Club that very evening. James would be there with open arms and an offer Seth couldn't refuse.

Edward had just signed Seth Clearwater's rep contract that morning. In their industry, it was standard for such a contract to include a three day right of rescission.

Money talks, and James would offer to cut the agent's percent in half. It would save Seth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Seth would cancel his rep agreement with Cullen. James would become Seth's sport agent, and Ivy would handle the contract negotiation.

_Perfect. _

James heard the familiar buzz of Isabella's intercom; he took another bite of that stale pizza.

And he listened.

xXx

Isabella had barely hung up the phone with Demetri when Lauren buzzed through again. "Tyler wants to see you in his office right away. Says to bring your notes on those players you got from Baltimore."

She gathered the files, scooped up her purse and Blackberry, and headed down the hall to Tyler's cushy corner office. She found Tyler in the midst of an animated discussion with Mariners General Manager, Kevin Clapp.

Coach Clapp was free comedy. Made you laugh without costing you money. Only problem, you laughed at him, and not necessarily with him. He had a beer gut, and the man jingled. Yes, jingled. He had a bad habit of playing with the coins in his pockets. But, the best part was that he sported one of the most pathetic comb overs she'd ever seen, with his hair slicked over and then swirled on top of his head. It was saturated with so much spray that even a hurricane couldn't blow a single hair astray.

_Did he actually think he fooled anyone? It doesn't work for The Donald, and it certainly doesn't work for you._

Coach Combover wasted no time with niceties. "Isabella, as you are aware, the Mariners are making final cuts after tonight's pre-season games. Tyler here tells me I have to clear the boys through legal before I can offer them a spot on the team. I need to have my roster posted by midnight tonight, so I will need you to clear everyone by..."

He looked at his watch, "Nine o'clock."

She donned an agreeable smile, "No problem, Kevin. As we clear the names, we'll text you, so you can get those offers out. I will hand deliver the official clearance list by nine."

Combover got up, reached his right hand in his pocket, and jingled right out the door.

Isabella brought the files and placed them on Tyler's desk.

Tyler handed Isabella the list of names that Coach Clapp needed cleared.

_Nahuel Cămara._

_Seth Clearwater._

_Alonzo Calderas Wallace._

The list continued, but the name, "Nahuel Cămara" gave her pause. "Give me just a moment, Tyler, I need to check something," and Isabella pulled one of the Oriole's files from the stack.

_NAME - Nahuel Cămara, _

_DOB January 22, 1980, home town, Florianōpolis, Brazil. Single. One child, male, born December 22, 2009, living with birth mother in Towson, Maryland. _

_Criminal:_

_* Domestic battery, September 2009, charges dropped. _

_* Restraining order, issued February, 2009, lifted April 2009, issued by…."_

Isabella didn't need to read any further. "Tyler, my recommendation would be that the Mariners pass on Mister Cămara. He's another Connor Johnson, and we don't need to go there again."

Isabella and Tyler proceeded to talk about the "Johnson Case." Tyler spoke about how Johnson blamed it all on Ivy when he got himself fired. He rolled his eyes when he talked about how Conner Johnson actually had to be escorted out of the building, cursing Isabella's name under his breath.

They knew the politics of it all, and agreed that since Nahuel Cămara was number one on Clapp's list, they'd have to present a pretty solid case as to why legal was vetoing him.

"With the Johnson ordeal still on Clapp's radar from last season, I think we should make a connection to Nahuel Cămara," Isabella said, as she opened the file folder they would be hand delivering to Coach Combover. Isabella then inserted a copy of the newspaper article published the day after Connor Johnson was fired.

_Connor Johnson was released from the Seattle Mariners yesterday, following his conviction of solicitation, lewd and lascivious behavior, and public nudity. He was arrested earlier this year when the local police witnessed him receiving fellatio in the backseat of his '69 Chevy El Camino, by an alleged prostitute, who was never charged in the case._

_Isabella Swan, Esquire, attorney with the Mariners organization, confirmed that Mister Johnson is no longer a member of the Seattle Mariners baseball team. As Johnson was released under the Mariners "morals clause," it is expected he will forfeit the ten million dollars remaining in his contract. _

Isabella mused about how she had no clue why Johnson had zeroed in on her, when instead he should have blamed his not-so-stellar lawyer, Felix Rinker, who couldn't get him cleared of a simple "John" misdemeanor charge in court.

They talked about how Isabella had actually represented Connor Johnson once before. Isabella worked as an attorney for the Mariners. Because Johnson was a player on the team, Isabella was tapped to defend him during a case in which a woman accused Johnson of groping her during Mariners Fan Day. It wasn't long after Isabella's opening remarks, that the judge dismissed the case.

Tyler spoke about how he still couldn't believe that the prosecution never "uncovered that restraining order."

Isabella remembered it like it happened yesterday. "When I first took on the case, I asked Connor if there were any skeletons. He told me that when he was seventeen, still in high school…and working at WalMart developing film, that he asked out a cute cashier a few too many times. She accused him of stalking her and claimed he grabbed her in the break room. He followed her home a few times, took some pictures of her, but he said he never touched her."

Isabella continued, "That restraining order was issued when Johnson was a minor. By the time he turned eighteen, he was a thousand miles away playing ball for Florida. The restraining order wasn't renewed, and his father paid a fortune to have it expunged from his record."

It's why the Mariners never knew about the restraining order in the first place, otherwise Johnson wouldn't have made the team either.

_Expunged, invisible, non existent._

Isabella finished writing her notes that she would later type and hand deliver to the coach, "In summary, we are aware of a restraining order against Mister Cămara, as well as past assault charges. We therefore make the recommendation that, as an organization, the Seattle Mariners do not extend a contract to Nahuel Cămara."

Of course, in the official report Isabella handed the coach, she couldn't mention anything about Johnson or that restraining order, because it was protected under attorney-client privilege.

But, she would absolutely include that newspaper article about Johnson and let Coach Clapp draw his own conclusions.

xXx

James sat in his sticky chair and he smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

Connor Johnson.

_Of course._

Johnson would be the patsy. James knew that Connor Johnson would be happy to play his part and watch Ivy squirm. He'd think she deserved it.

It was a most ingenious way to elicit revenge.

And, it would get Ivy off of Edward's trail. She'd no longer have a reason to snoop around in search of "Batman." She wouldn't be making that call to Harborview. She wouldn't be hiring any private investigators looking for the elusive Bruce Wayne.

Ivy would be made to believe that Connor Johnson was Bruce. She'd have no need to look any further.

Johnson had motive. He loathed Isabella Swan and she knew it.

Johnson had money - - six million dollars to be exact. It was a far cry from that original sixteen million dollar contract that Isabella stole right out from under him when she fired him for that unfortunate blow job incident, but still, a hefty sum.

And, from Ivy's point of view, it was more than enough for Connor to afford to invest $150,000 to bid on her, and then seduce her, at the Maskorade Ball. Ivy would think she was screwed by the same man she'd fucked out of $10 million.

And, because of attorney-client privilege, there would be nothing she could do about it.

**xxXxx**

END NOTES:

Thanks again, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this story. I am so very sorry for the long delay in posting, but promise that this story will continue, and will be completed.

If you are so inclined, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you, your ideas, what you like…even what you might like to change (such as the posting schedule….)

As always, I'll send out review replies that include an insanely long teaser, an inside look into TAATE, and… this time, I've got a few more epic photos to share. One of them is from the Twilight movie, and includes a publicity shot of the original love triangle Edward – Isabella – James. Yeah, it'll be quite fitting for what's coming up in The Agent and the Esquire.

**Expect Chapter 10 to post in April. And, that's no joke.**


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